


My Chemical Romance One-shots/Short stories

by TheKingIsDead (witch_lit)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Demons, Heart, Humor, Love, M/M, One-Shots, Romance, Skittles, Suicide, housing crisis, hyper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:24:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witch_lit/pseuds/TheKingIsDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frerard and Waycest pairings, a series of the one shots I wrote in my first six month of the fandom. One of my shorter stories as well. Ranging from humor to angst, from skittles to alcohol, from death to the afterlife. Not connected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burn My Flesh If You Love Me

Gerard closes his eyes as the tears drip off his face.  
  
"Gerard?" Frank asks, concerned for his friend, advancing on the curled up teen.  
  
"Go away, Frank." Gerard says, trying to sound convincing even as a sob wracks his thin frame.   
  
"Gerard, what's wrong?" Frank asks, stepping closer to his friend.  
  
"Why do you care?" Gerard spits, looking up from his curled position on the floor.   
  
"I care because I'm your friend." Frank says softly, reaching out to pat Gerard's shoulder, wincing when Gerard flinches away from his friend.  
  
"You haven't spoken to me in months. You're not my friend any longer." Gerard says, frowning at Frank. "Leave me alone."  
  
"But Gerard, you're crying." Frank said, trying to convince his friend to tell him what's wrong.  
  
Gerard laughs. "I've been crying for someone to save me since you left."  
  
"I... I'm sorry." Frank says sympathetically. It's not as if he wanted to leave Gerard...  
  
Gerard chuckles hollowly. "I've been dead to you for far to long."  
  
"Well then maybe it's time I resurrected you." Frank grins.  
  
"No."   
  
"No?"  
  
"No. If you were to busy for me, what's to say it won't happen again? We haven't spoken for months. We've been buried under our lives, I guess." Gerard shrugs.  
  
"But Gerard..."   
  
"Leave me alone, Frank."  
  
... The next day...  
  
Gerard sits up in bed, cold sweat making his body dirty. Too dirty. Unacceptably dirty, a despicable dirty that needs to be eradicated.  
  
Gerard sighs, stepping into his shower system, turning the water on as high as it can go, singeing his flesh, no doubt. But he doesn't care. He wants to forget everything, embrace the pain and forget the day Frank left him. the day Mikey died. The day Gerard just couldn't wipe the blood off his hands.  
  
All because of Frank, all because they've buried themselves under their lies.   
  
The tears that drip out of Gerard's eyes are unnoticeable as the scorching water meets fogs up the bathroom,getting hot enough to turn into gas, or condensation or some fucky science thing Gerard doesn't really care about.   
  
He's been dead for way too long.  
  
Bring him back to life, you have to bring him back to life.  
  
But no one seems to notice, even though he's crying out loud for someone to save him. And here we are, buried under our lies. The pressure draining, exhausting as we struggle, much like Atlas, to keep the world (or the sky in his case) crashing down on us.   
  
Every day, the resistance slackens, the world gets a little heavier and some day Gerard just won't be able to take it. The weight strains everything about him, his passion was crushed with Mikey, his desire to do anything productive hung out and crucified like its an awful thing that shouldn't exist. It's an exorcism against being himself, but he can't help it.   
  
No one can help that Mikey is dead, or that all Gerard sees when he looks in the mirror is blood covering his face and hands.  
  
No one can relieve Atlas of his duty without being crushed by it and the task forced back on Atlas.  
  
Numb to everything in life, alive in the cruelest, most self loathing way possible.  
  
He closes his eyes, taking in the pain as the fiery drops of water splatter across his skin, listening to the violent collision resulting in the oblivion of the droplets.  
  
He's on the edge, looking for someone to save him yet accepting no one's help. It's ludicrous, hypocrisy of the highest standard. Preach against suicide and then commit it.  
  
Not that Gerard's hypocrisy relates to suicide. It's merely a ask for help then not accept it kind of thing. It's stupid, it's painful, low and most certainly despicable.   
  
And he somehow loves it with a bitter hate.  
  
... Later... (I'm not going to really specify much about their lives)  
  
(With Frank)  
  
"He's looking for someone to be him, yet he won't accept help." Frank says, sighing as he runs his hand through his hair.   
  
"That's too bad." Bob says, leaning against the brown door frame.  
  
"You don't seem to care." Frank notes, looking over at his friend.  
  
Bob shrugs. "Probably just being a drama queen again."  
  
Frank sighs. Blame anything you don't want to deal with on the person being ovedramatic, Bob. But maybe... There's some logic to that theory. Or Bob means it. "I suppose."  
  
"As long as he's taking his meds he'll be fine." Bob sys, shrugging. "It's not like he's going to do something stupid like self harm. He hates that stuff."  
  
"I guess..."  Frank says, though not thoroughly impressed with the argument.  
  
"Have a drink, forget about it." Bob says, walking over to clank his half full beer bottle against Frank's.  
  
Half full also means half empty.  
  
Just like Gerard.   
  
... Another fucking time lapse...  
  
To die is to live in his head.   
  
Why? Because he's dead. Simple as that, Mikey mother fucking Way is dead. It's a fact Gerard knows well, too well some might argue, yet he's taken up some of his brother's habits. Gerard refuses to leave the house without straightened hair, is quiet and has grown a severe distaste for unicorns. His coffee intake has doubled, but that might also be because of the insomnia.  
  
The ability to stay up all night, yet the overwhelming desire to sleep wether he wants to sleep or not.  
  
Gerard is grateful for his insomnia, in a twisted way. When he's so sleepily forced awake, he doesn't have to see the final face, the hate and disgust that framed his brother's death mask.  
  
If he could turn back time, Gerard would turn it back far enough to do something stupid like erase his existence before it brought Mikey down.   
  
There's nothing left to say, yet so much empty space that needs to be filled with awfully crafted words. The world is filled with too much noise, so many questions no one wants to answer. So many fucking questions!  
  
Gerard takes a sip of coffee like he's singing a death march for a close friend. Or a brother.   
  
The phone rings, and Gerard slowly makes his way to the contraption, barely making the yard long journey before the third and final ring, sighing heavily halfway through this uncharted insomniac territory.   
  
"Speak." Gerard says bluntly, too exhausted to be coughs up with such trivialities similar to politeness.  
  
"Gerard, I just thought I'd call to see how you're doing." A voice on the othe end of the line asks. Gerard's hand starts to shake.   
  
"Ray, why the fuck are you calling me?! After what you did to my brother, you dare call me!?" Gerard yells into the phone.  
  
"I killed him just as much as you did!" Ray defends himself.   
  
"I didn't fucking kill him!" Gerard yells, violently throwing his coffee mug against the tile floor of his kitchen for emphasis.  
  
"Sure you didn't, you mother fucker." Ray says moodily into the telephone, hanging up in a huff.  
  
Gerard sinks to the floor.   
  
Ray's right. It is his fault Mikey is dead.   
  
No one saved Mikey.   
  
No one gets to save Gerard.


	2. Every Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard sends a short reflection to a magazine. One-shot, noncannon. No pairings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaiming the entirety of this series.)

I lay on my bed, staring almost blankly at the ceiling. In the darkness of 2am the tears from my pain filled eyes are invisible to the empty room. You won't be able to see my eyes thinking it over, thinking what it would be like to let go.  
  
To let my parents come to yell at me for being late to school, only to discover a blood stained mattress and a cold body. To see a jagged triangular piece of a mirror crudely sticking out of the precious veins in my wrist.  
  
I would hope they would be sad, I hope they would cry while reading the note I left them. When they saw the tears that stain the ripped out notebook paper, when they start to feel everything I felt when I decided to end it.  
  
The goddamn pain of doing nothing while a loved one- or anyone, really- is dead from an avoidable cause. A reason that shouldn't have been a problem, something that wouldn't happen in a halfway decent, or even fair world.   
  
It really is too bad the world isn't fair. If it was, there would be so many beautiful people left alive, not overtaken by despair.  
  
And I can't help but feel its so stupid, it's so useless and I don't understand why it happens. Do people really take pleasure in destroying another? Do they feel in control when they use their hate to kill another? Is it a compulsion? A dirty, vile compulsion that people need to be jailed for?  
  
Why are humans so awful? Why are we all filled with hate, with undesirable rage and the capabilities of being so cruel?  
  
Every night I lay awake, long into the night, hoping tomorrow will be better. It never is, but I can't bring myself to lose hope. I can't stop planning my dreams. If I stop planning, I'll stop living and succumb to this awful depression.  
  
I suppose I the grand scheme of things just another suicide means nothing, just another body to burn.   
  
There is a reason my poetry is so dark, a reason my soul is so twisted, distorted and frayed at the ends. A reason the bottle was my best buddy for so long.  
  
"Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll." hah. While I'm into rock and roll, sex and drugs, the drugs aren't about the rock and roll image. It was about dealing with all the inescapable hate.  
  
Dealing with how it hurts to look in the mirror, to hate what you see. There's only so much skin for their acid to burn through. Only so much flesh to bruise, only so many words to be spat.  
  
Someday, I'll have seen it all. Someday my skin will be thicker, someday it won't hurt. Someday I'll be alive, not merely living.  
  
I sigh. One day, I won't be up in the early hours of the day repeating the hate from the day before.  
  
Let's just hope I can make it that far.  
~Every Night, by Gerard Way


	3. If I stayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank, torn from his lover, finally returns to Gerard. Written in November, 2011. Frerard. Character Death. Flashbacks.

I had turned 18 years old seven hours ago. As soon as midnight struck, I'd ditched my no-good abusive parents and hopped on a flight to New Jersey, where I used to live. Where I met the one person who could understand me, whom I was ripped apart from, whom I couldn't even give an explanation. _But I'll see him today_. I remembered his address, hoping he still lived there. We were both 18, but maybe he had left for collage or something. Not likely, with his grades. But he always wanted to go to art school. It was a passion of his, art I mean. I really hoped he wasn't dating someone else, and I'd have a chance to explain my absence. It wasn't like I wanted to leave, or even knew it was going to happen before it did. I hopde, above all else, that he wouldn't hate me. I don't know if I could live, knowing my Gee hated me. Being apart from him was bad enough, sometimes I'd just wanted nothing more than to jump off a bridge.  
  
A nice, humble suicide at the ludicrous idea of not being able to see him. The menace of my parents, the hurt I wanted to inflict on my parents for breaking us apart almost taking over. Because he was my everything.  
  
I walked by Belleville High school, remembering the first time I had met my wonderful boyfriend. Ex boyfriend, but I'd hoped to change that. I remember running into him, I was new in school, only been in classes for two days.   
  
I'd literally walked into him. He was on the floor, covered in blood bruises and tears. He was sat on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, rocking back and forth, obviously trying not to cry. But it was too late, he was crying and shivering into himself. Maybe he was trying to stop the pain. I'll never know, I suppose. I took him to the bathroom to get cleaned up. He was too stubborn to go to the nurse. I cleaned his injuries with water, and it didn't take me long to notice the scars and scabs lacing his already bruised arm. He told me why he did it, eventually. I told him why I did it. We both cut, plain and simple. My parents abused me. His parents just didn't care.  
  
I didn't know exactly when it happened, but over time we fell in love. It wasn't a fake love, far from it. It was our everything. and we had a wonderful relationship, keeping each other strong against the desire to cut, eradicating the need entirely.  
  
We went through the bullying together; we did everything together. We were in love, plain and easily spotted. His brother noticed. All of our few friends noticed. They were excited for us. Everyone was fine with it. That is, until my parents found out about it. To this day, I don't know how it spread through the grape vine to them, the news like the wind, touching everything and everyone. It's why they dragged me, screaming and crying away from Gerard. You see, the news did not exactly make them happy.   
  
Far from happy at that. I remember my father yelling at me, hitting me. Not too bad, though. At the time I thought that was a good sign. I thought it meant he was just drunk, and really didn't give a flying fuck. But it just meant he was saving his energy for someone else. Gerard. My Gerard.  
  
He had to be hospitalized after what my father did, the injuries were that bad. I snuck to the hospital to see him. The next day, my father told me to pack my bags. I did, not quite knowing what was going on.  
  
We left as soon as my bags were packed. I didn't even get to say goodbye, leave a note, anything. I didn't have a phone. I couldn't have called him. I was gone. After I realized I wasn't going to see my Gerard for a long time, the uncontrollable crying started, the desire to cut so strong. But I resisted, I resisted for the moment I'd see him again, I didn't want any bad blood between us.   
  
Finished with my reminiscence, I walked up to the Way house hold, eager to see my tie to life. I knocked on the wood door, awaiting my love. I could hardly wait.  
  
Instead his brother opened the door. But Mikey looked different, less alive than usual. Older somehow. But then, I hadn't seen him in a year.  
  
"Frank..." he whispered, tears leaking from his eyes.   
  
"Hey Mikey. Is Gerard in?" I asked, a bit worried by his tears, coming off my excited high.  
  
"Frank...Gee's dead." He croaked.  
  
"How?" I whispered, my eyes wide, head reeling in shock. How? How could my Gee be... _dead?_  
  
"He...jumped off the old light house after you left." There were tears running down his face, mine too.   
  
And that's where I am now. Mikey likely blames me for his brother's death. Hell, I blame me do his brother's death. He only thing keeping me going was knowing he'd be there for me when I got back. I guess not.  
  
There are no more tears, though. Because, though I'm filled with sorrow, I can't help but hope to see Gee again.  
  
I look down at the jagged rocks below me, so far down, yet distinct in the cool night air. I wonder how Gerard fell, when exactly he did it, what he was thinking. I hear the town's church bells chime, signaling midnight. At the fateful chime, I climb over the railing and leap, hoping more than anything that Gee will be waiting for me in the afterlife as I feel the air whip against me.  
  
But there is no afterlife.


	4. Just Go With It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank asks a question, and gets one hell of an answer. PWP, smut. December, 2011. (First smut)

Gerard pulls his lips to Frank's, nervous and uncertain.  
  
He moves to pull back, but the younger man pulls him closer still, locking their lips together. Frank pulls back slightly, eagerly licking Gerard's lips, and happily Gerard obliges, happy to grant the younger man access. Happy, Gerard was. He'd never expected kissing his best friend and long time crush would get such a good reaction.  
  
Gerard moans as he explores the other man's mouth, both fervently wanting more. Frank pushes Gerard down on his bed, straddling the older, keeping their tongues locked and rubbing together the entire time.  
  
Gerard moans into Frank's mouth, and Frank mirrors the noise as Gerard runs his hand down the pierced one's chest, down his torso, back up from under his shirt.  
  
Frank groans, breaking the kiss to violently tate his own shirt off.  
  
Gerard moans loudly as Frank returns to the kiss, the kiss sweeter and the fire renewed by the momentary seperation.  
  
Gerard slowly runs his han up Frank's naked torso, causing the younger's breath to hitch as Gerard reaches his nipple, rolling it between his fingers, teasing it out, making the normally soft skin turn hard.  
  
Frank sighs, breaking the kiss and making Gerard panic, his dismay quite apparent. But not a moment later Gerard understands, and leans up, helping his friend greedily rip his short off.  
  
"Are you sure, Frankie?" Gerard asks, trying to catch his breath over a throbbing erection.  
  
"I've wanted this for years." Frank confesses, whispering I Gerard's ear, causing shivers to run marathons down the older one's spine.   
  
"O-okay." Gerard whimpers as Frank begins to kiss his neck, sucking and nipping Gerard's neck.  
  
Gerard, gaining confidence, runs his hand away from Frank's nipple, down his torso, circling his belly button a few times before coming down to his friend's ripped skinny jeans, moans being elicited from both the entire time.  
  
There is no hesitation as Gerard slips off Frank's skinnies, Frank moaning like his bitch the entire time. Gerard smiles, happy to know Frank is just as excited as himself, if his throbbing erection is anything to go by. Both men moan throatily as Frank rubs his erection down on Gerard's, teasing through the fabric.  
  
"Oh God Frankie..." Gerard says, his voice dropping ever so low, making the addressed even more excited. Frank wants to hear Gerard moan his name, scream it as he rams into the boy he's loved for so long. And Fran Iero usually gets his way.  
  
"You like that Gerard?" Frank teases the other, his voice throaty and dripping with desire.  
  
"Yessss..." Gerard hisses as Frank rolls his hips down on his friend's.  
  
Gerard moans, sending delicious tingles sparking down Frankie's spine.   
  
Frank brings his head up from Gerard's neck, and allows the fight for tongue dominance to restart.  
  
Frank reaches down, to Gerard's skinnies, and Gerard lifts up his hips, allowing the younger one to pull the skinnies off entirely.  
  
Frank moans as he looses his boxers to Gerard's hands, and soon Gerard looses his own undergarment. Both men express their pleasure through a series of loans as they rub their naked erections together, their cocks desperately begging for attention.  
  
"Gerard..." Frank hisses as the friction between them increases.  
  
"Yeeeeah?" Gerard moans.  
  
"Lube.."  
  
Gerard reaches out to his bedside table, pulling a bottle out of one of the drawers a and handing it to his partner.  
  
The younger grins, squirting some of the oily substance into his hands, rubbing it together almost like sunscreen, applying it to Gerard's erect penis.  
  
Gerard moans at the touch. "What're ya-" But is cut off as Frank lowers his ass over Gerard's cock, the younger calling out in pleasure-pain, ecstatic to have Gerard inside him.  
  
Slowly, getting over their initial reactions, Frank lifts himself half off Gerard's cock, only to slam down, pulling up and shoving down, riding Gerard like he only has moments left to live.  
  
"Frank!" Gerard screams, losing himself, cumming into the smaller man, mind blown. Frank, after a moment, slides off Gerard, erection twitching, pre-cum leaking from the head of his cock.  
  
"Mmmm... Touch me, Gerard." Frank begs, locking his eyes with Gerard's, pouting slightly. No, pouting a lot.  
  
Gerard grins, still high on sex. "Anytime." And moves his hand down to the younger man's shaft, playing with the head, fingering the slit.  
  
"Oh God Gerard..." Frqnk moans as Gerard starts to pump his hand up and down Frank's throbbing length.  
  
"Oh! Gerard I'm gonna-" his muscles and stomach ripple as he ropes out sticky white substance on the both of them, Gerard's hand getting covered in the stuff.  
  
"Gerard..." Frank pants.  
  
"Yes?" Gerard asks, smiling at what thy had just done in his post euphoric state.  
  
"This... Isn't going to be a one time thing, is it?" He asks between breaths, still failing to catch his.  
  
"I hope not."  
  
"Good." Frank grins, happy, now together with the love of his life.  
  
"We should get cleaned up. Mikey's coming over for dinner." Gerard smiles softly.  
  
"Aw..."  
  
Gerard chuckles. "I know, I know. Did that answer your question, though?"  
  
"What question?" Frank asks, obviously forgetting the question that led up to his little escapade.  
  
"You asked why I live alone. So I can do that, my dear Frankie."  
  
"You live alone so yo can have sex?" Frank asks, his eyebrows raised almost in disbelief.  
  
"That about sums it up." Gerard confirms with a nod.


	5. Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank must choose to go with his death or not.

“It was cold-and not a good cold. The kind of cold that soaked into your heart, left you to die. It hurt, it wasn’t the nice cold of an ice pack over a burn. It wasn’t soothing, it was painful. Painful in the most discreet way of the word, subtle wounding your emotions more than should be possible. But it was possible, the unending pain accompanying rejection and hurt. It wasn’t as if anyone wanted this. It was simply just a thing that happened.  
  
“Like falling in slow motion, into a pond or stream. Closing your eyes as you hit the water, reopening them just to watch as the sun falls away from you as you go further down, never to come back to the surface. It’s something that makes you want to panic, but you can’t. You don’t. Because you don’t have the energy to honestly care. Just another one of the victims of depression and alcohol. It’s not as though you want to be defeated by all of their hate, you just are.  
  
“It has been a constantly raging battle, a fight to the death, and you’ve lost. Lost in the most tragic, uninspiring, defeated way. You’ve given up, decided it just isn’t worth it any more. The fights you get in, they don’t matter. There’ll always be another fight, another exchange of words. Another ending, another beginning, just as awful as the last.  
  
“You realize that even if you finally have it good, someone will come just to tear the pieces you’ve finally built up down. There’s always going to be someone who can’t stand you, who won’t like you for who you are. You start to wonder, after a while, if there’s anyone who will like you for you. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t.  
  
“You know that all the needless beatings will stop, eventually, when one of you is gone. You know that if you can hold on long enough, there will be justice and you will feel alive again. But you also don’t know if you can hold on long enough. You don’t know if they will stop or not, you don’t know if you’ll end up dead, drowned in a stream, beat to death. You just don’t know, and it tares you apart.  
  
“You want to have a promise, even if it’s wretched. You want to know when it’ll stop, if it even will stop. You don’t want them to kill you, you want to die the way you want to, when you want to. And it’s that simple. You should know that itwon’t stop. Won’t ever stop, unless you do something. But it won’t stop, it won’t ever stop because you’re too weak, you can’t handle yourself. You can’t handle anything, you can’t even handle your own life.  
  
“And that’s why you’re worthless. You’re useless, a pollution to the world that doesn’t need to exist. But you do? And why d you exist? It’s not fair to the rest of us that you do, that you take up our space and our air. You think we don’t want you here, and quite honestly, you’re right. We pull on our masks, we pretend to love you. But we don’t. We never have. You’re a let down, it’s a shame you exist.  
  
“You wonder why you were ever born, and it’s not because God wanted you to exist. It’s not because there’s some one who wants you. You’re just a failed dream, a hope that never came true. You’re empty inside. You want to know a secret? No one ever cares without a reason. There’s always a lie behind our eyes, behind ours. We bring out the worst, we are the worst. You are the worst.  
  
“So how does it feel? Knowing you’re barely alive? I know you long for what I can give you, the escape you can have. You can feel the rush as it happens, as I finally give you the forbidden fruit you so desire. It’s not as if I care. You’re just a piece of meat, in prime condition for devouring. It doesn’t matter that you have a mind, that you have a soul.  
  
“It’s a fact you’ve accepted. Don’t deny it. I know you want what I offer. I want to give it to you. Not out of the goodness of my heart, of course. Give me your soul and I will take you to a new world, a world without fear and pain, a world without anything. A world where you’ll never be alone. A world where God does not exist. Come along now, you know I see the evil in your eyes.” The black haired reaper of death asks the teenager. The teenager who no longer wants to live, he’s given up.  
  
“I-I don’t….My parents would be devastated.” The boy tries, his pierced lip quivering.  
  
The reaper chuckles. “You don’t believe that.”  
  
The boy looks away. “I… you want me to give you my soul? Why is it so important to you?”  
  
The reaper eyes the boy. Few have ever asked a question like his before. “I want your soul because your soul is like a fire, it burn so bright yet it dims so muck. I’ve watched you for the last hour, and I think the memories of your life would taste delicious, a bitter sweet mix that would keep me satisfied for a very long time.” The reaper says finally, being honest with his prey. Really, the boy will end up dead eventually. That’s why he wants the soul now, before the wretched angels steal it away.  
  
“I… will it hurt?” The boy asks, a look of defeat on his face.  
  
“Yes. It will hurt very much. But if you look past the pain, you’ll find hope, pleasure…every positive memory you’ve ever had will play before your eyes and it’ll be done. You’ll be dead, you won’t have to deal with this life anymore.”  
  
The boy sighs, but drags it out. “Take me.”  
  
The reaper smiles. “I’d love to.” He steps closer to the boy, pulling the smaller, alive man into an embrace. He smells in the boy’s scent, and both men close their eyes as memories infest their minds and take over their souls. The reaper learns that he was right, the boy is a sweet flavor on his tongue, yet a bit of tart, the perfect combination in his mind. He sighs as the boy goes limp in his arms. “Gerard.” The reaper whispers in the dead boy’s ear, letting the soul know the name of the one who killed him. There is nothing worse than not knowing your killer.


	6. To the Ones that Fall In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cellar Door song fic. Gerard comes home and can't seem to find Frank. Should he even be looking? Major Character Death. Frerard.

Gerard sighs, walking into his house after a long day of work.   
  
"Gerard?" He hears Frank, his lover and house mate call from within the depths of the building, his slightly hoarse voice sounding slightly panicked.   
  
Gerard sits down and takes his boots off on the bench in the mud room."Be there in a minute." He promises his lover, receiving no reply.  
  
"Frank?" Gerard calls, poking his head into the empty kitchen, through the first level, sadly not finding his boyfriend.   
  
Gerard climbs up the stairs, still warily looking for his boyfriend."Frank?" He calls again, knocking on the closed bedroom door. He doesn't receive a response, but he still cracks the door open.   
  
"Frank?" He calls again, sighing as he looks around the room hosting no one living (bar himself). Gerard sighs again, not in the mood for Frank's antics when he sees a pale foot from behind their queen size bed.  
  
Gerard stares at the foot for a second, doing nothing, until finally he consciously registers there's something strange about a foot sticking out lifelessly from behind the bed. He feels his nerves start to tense, a awful feeling crawling into the pit of his stomach. He swallows, slowly, cautiously enters the bedroom, and soon he can see the black leggings his lover often wears, his fears growing a sevenfold. The tension is easily thick enough to cut with a rusty old knife.   
  
Gerard sees the dark liquid staining the floor, but doesn't register what it is until he looks at Frank's slashed wrists. Frank's white button up shirt, drenched in his own blood. His head slightly lolled, facing the ceiling as his eyes blankly begin to cloud over.  
  
Gerard rushes to his lover, hoping upon anything that the love of his life isn't dead. He checks for a pulse, he can't find one. The boy-no, the body- isn't breathing.   
  
Frank Iero is dead.  
  
"Frankie…" Gerard whispers as the full realization hits him.   
  
'Frank Iero is dead.'  
  
Frank Iero, beloved friend of many and boyfriend of Gerard Way is no longer breathing. He offed himself, if the old scars and new lacerations are anything to go by.   
  
'Was it an accident? Did he mean it or did he just cut in the wrong place? When did he even start cutting again? I thought I'd gotten him off that… I guess Frank Iero was destined to cut, destined to die.'  
  
Gerard is overcome by grief. Judging by the age of the cuts, Frank's been cutting for weeks.   
  
'Maybe if I was home more often. If I wasn't always leaving him alone to work. I should have payed better attention to my boy.'  
  
Gerard feels a wave of grief, guilt and self-loathing wash over himself. It's his fault Frank is dead. It's his fault Frank's eyes are dull and not seeing. It's his fault Frank Iero did this to himself, his fault that Frank was so alone all the time.  
  
O.O.O.O.O (heh.. time lapse)  
  
Gerard carries the limp body of his lover into the bedroom, lying the shell of his lover in the middle of the grey cement room. Gerard leans over the boy, delicately kissing his forehead, not caring to notice the tears falling onto the delicately dead face.  
  
Gerard lights a white candle, placing it on a table to start burning through the wax.  
  
He takes the razor he found next to Frank and presses it against his wrist, drawing up blood as he slashes against his skin, on the side of his wrist, as to not draw up enough blood to die.   
  
Gerard takes one of his old paintbrushes, slowly dipping it in the stinging cut and collecting blood on the bristles, cutting again and again to draw a circle around his Frankie.  
  
Gerard looks at the painting, lightheaded from the blood-loss. A circle around Frank's head, off-center as if something is supposed to be next to it. Around the circle are jagged lines, twisting in the ends to create and almost morbid sun.   
  
Gerard fetches his candle and drips the clear wax onto his boyfriend's eyes, keeping them forever open. Hesighs contently, placing the candle back on the table to burn through.   
  
'It'll be a lovely scene to find.'  
  
Gerard lays himself down next to Frank, taking one of the dead boy's hands in his own as he finally cuts the vein in his wrist, welcoming the sweet oblivion he finds in death.


	7. Seme Uke Quiz; The Frerard Way!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard convinces Frank to take the Seme/Uke quiz. (Um, if you don't know what that is that's fine. You'll learn, or you can google le quiz)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a phone conversation.. or whatever you want it to be.

**Gerard: Hey, Frank?**  
Frank: Yeah?  
 **Gerard: I need you to take the Seme Uke quiz.**  
Frank: The what?  
 **Gerard: Seme Uke quiz.**  
Frank: Okay, I'll look it up.  
...  
Frank: Gee, the first question is about licking things.  
 **Gerard: I know... just answer the questions.**  
Frank: Now it's asking me about bondage preferences!  
 **Gerard:... yeah, just finish the quiz.**  
Frank: It's asking about my weapon choice. Gerard, what is a seme and what is a uke?!  
 **Gerard: I'll tell you once you finish.**  
Frank: (huffs) Fine. WHY IS IT ASKING ME ABOUT HOW I EAT MY ICE CREAM!?  
 **Gerard: Stop freaking out.**  
Frank: It's asking me what kind of gift I'd give my partner. One of the answers is edible body paint. Or my soul. What is this?  
 **Gerard: All in due time.**  
Frank: ... It's asking me what I'd do if I saw someone checking out my partner.   
**Gerard: Well, what did you answer?**  
Frank: Kick their ass.  
 **Gerard: Good to know.**  
Frank: OMIGOD IT WANTS TO KNOW IF I USUALLY TOP OR BOTTOM!!!WHAT IS THIS INSANITY?!  
 **Gerard: Which one is it?**  
Frank: ... Um, I'm cool with whatever. Wait, why do you want to know?  
 **Gerard: ...Just finish already.**  
Frank: Fine, fine. It says... clueless uke.   
**Gerard: Aww... (mutters) I guess we're not compatible.**  
Frank: What was that?  
 **Gerard:(Bitterly) Nothing, nothing.**  
Frank: Are you going to tell me what a Seme or Uke is now? Or do I have to resort to the internet?  
 **Gerard: Not the internet!.. A seme is generally the topper or more dominate in a relationship. An Uke is usually more submissive and bottoms more often than not.**  
Frank: You... YOU HAD ME TAKE A RELATIONSHIP QUIZ?!  
 **Gerard: ...Yeah?**  
Frank: Why exactly would you do that?  
 **Gerard: Well... I wanted to see... never mind.**  
Frank: Wanted to see what?  
 **Gerard: If we're compatible.**  
Frank: Oh.  
 **Gerard: Yeah.**  
Frank: Are we?  
 **Gerard: No... wait, why do you care?**  
Frank: Um, well, I, uh... what did you get?  
 **Gerard: Chibi Seme. Seme in disguise.**  
Frank: It says that... that the clueless uke is best with the opportunist or romantic Seme, and bad with the don't fuck with me or sadist seme... that doesn't mean we wouldn't work out. We'd be in uncharted waters.  
 **Gerard: Wait... do you want us to work out?**  
Frank: (laughs nervously) We're not together.  
 **Gerard: Do you want us to be together?**  
Frank: ... I... yeah.   
**Gerard: I do too.**  
Frank: R-really?  
 **Gerard: Really.**  
Frank: So does this mean...?  
 **Gerard: Screw the quiz. Frank Iero, will you be my boyfriend?**  
Frank: Fuck yeah!


	8. You're dying.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're dying. And I'm coming with you. Frank X ? One shot. First person. Can be considered a Frerard, or a Frikey... it's not specified. MCD.

It won't be all right, it will never be all right. It's dark, it's cold and there's and an overwhelming dark power flowing from your dying body.

It's beautiful, watching you die. 

Beautiful in the worst way, but I do love you, I really do.

It doesn't hurt to see you die, it makes me calm. Makes me not feel bad about the cuts on my wrists, about how we're going to have a funeral together as there's suddenly only last cut to the end.

God Frankie, I love you. I always have, not that you ever knew. But you're dying, so it doesn't matter. I'm dying with you.


	9. Suicide Note...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard leaves a note to all his friends. Not depressing, I don't think so anyway. Hah... Frerard.

To all you fuckers who decide to read this,  
  
You probably know what this is. Yes, it's the swirling path of my spiral to despair, the horror of my life.  
  
I had a reasonable childhood, turned out gay and tormented. Yeah. Not exactly fun. I got an excellent boyfriend that I still have; I adore him. That's one of the reasons I feel so bad about this. Mikey, my brother, you're another reason. I love you so fucking much bro, and I really am sorry to have to leave you this thing. You'll hate me for it, no doubt.   
  
But don't blame yourself; it's all my fault, I'm sorry.   
  
No one, please, no one is to blame but me. Well, that's not entirely true.  
  
To my Mikey- Well, I thought I'd give you your own little section along with some of you people most important to me. I want to say, bro, that I was the one who beat up Brad for you. I'm the reason you don't get beat up anymore. But other than that, I've been a terrible brother. Drinking, I was whoring around for a while, now this. Oh yeah, I'm the one who broke your straighteners.  
  
Frankie- My boyfriend, one of my favorite people. No, my favorite person. Sorry Mikes, but Frankie and I don't have the required sector in the lover mobile. Don't worry, this isn't going to slow you down too much, I know. I hope it's not too much of a bump in your road, but I'm really truly sorry if it is. I don't want it to be.  
  
Hm… Bob. Salutations. We'll leave it at that.  
  
Ray- Your afro brought light to me on the darkest days-- well, it blocked my light when I was trying to work, you fucker. You're one of the reasons I had to end this.   
  
Goodbye, cruelty.   
  
I'm done, I just can't handle it anymore.   
  
_I'm moving out._   
  
~G.  
  
P.S. Frankie, you can come with me if you wanna. (Hah, come….)


	10. I Blame the Skittle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure randomness and cheer. Frerard-y.

"Fuck you all to Hell!" Frank shouts.  
  
"Can you really fuck someone that hard?" Gerard muses absentmindedly, shading in the cape of the mushroom he's drawing. Never seen a mushroom with a cape before? That's just sad. A crime.   
  
Not that Gerard has ever seen a mushroom with a cape before, either.   
  
"Gerard! I'm having a s crisis here and that's all you can fucking say?!"  
  
Gerard sighs. "Your boobs look fine, Frankie."  
  
"That's not what I was-- they do look nice, don't they-- wait! I'm a guy! I don't fucking have boobs!" Frank defends.  
  
"Keep telling  yourself that, Frankie. Keep telling yourself that."   
  
"Uh... Guys? Are you okay?" Ray asks, looking at his friends like they're crazy. It's certainly a possibility.   
  
"No!" Frank snaps. "I'm not o-fucking-Kay! We're out of skittles!" Frank wails.  
  
Ray sighs. "Frank, as long as I'm around, we're NEVER out of skittles."   
  
And with those words, Ray reaches into his 'fro and pulls out a two-pound bag of sour skittles.  
  
Frank looks at Ray like he is a god. Which he totally is: God of the Fro. Oh, beat that mother fuckers! What's that? You can't? Well, you just got PWNED!  
  
Ray hands the bag to Frank, who bounces up and down excitedly. "Yay! Yay yay!" He squeals.  
  
Mikey sighs. "You just had to give him more sugar, didn't you?"  
  
Ray shrugs.   
  
Frank pulls on the resisting bag, and it breaks, showering everyone in the sour treat.  
  
"Fraaaank!" Everyone complains.  
  
Frank giggles. "Skiiiiiiiiitttttllllllleees!"  
  
Mikey sighs, plucking skittles out of Ray's hair. "It's all your fault, Raymond. If you hadn't given him any skittles in the first place he wouldn't be on such a sugar high. I mean, Gee managed to convince him he had breasts for a moment."  
  
"HOLY SWEET JEZUS AND PURPLE PANDAS!!" Frank yells, staring at Gerard.  
  
Gerard glances up at Frank from his skittle-covered sketch. "What?" He inquires, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Gee, you look really good covered in skittles!"   
  
Gerard blushes. "Um, thanks, I guess..."  
  
"No, really, I could just eat you up!" And to prove his point, Frank launches himself on Gerard, eating up the skittles that stuck in Gerard's hair. It must be warm in the 'fro, to make the skittles so sticky.   
  
"Frank, get off me!" Gerard yells, blushing bright red as Frank steals the skittles off his body.  
  
Gerard can't help but let a small moan escape his lips as Frank sucks a skittle off his collarbone.  
  
"Eeew! Gerard's got a skittle fetish!!" Frank yells, jumping off of Gerard, who is blushing eight different shades of red.  
  
Mikey sighs, shaking his head. "No, Gerard's got a Frank fetish."  
  
Frank's eyes widen. "Ooooooh."  
  
"Mikey!" Gerard hisses.  
  
Mikey shrugs. "It's better than him thinking you have a skittle fetish."  
  
Gerard frowns. "No, I think--"  
  
Gerard is cut off by Franks mouth covering his, and he gasps. Frank slides his skittle flavored tongue into Gerard, and Gerard feels something else there with it. Skittles.  
  
Gerard breaks out of the kiss. "I do NOT have a fucking skittle fetish, Frank!"  
  
"Sure ya don't!" Frank  giggles.  
  
Gerard frowns, mumbles something and goes back to his drawing.   
  
"Whatcha drawin'?" Asks Frank, wide eyes all falsely innocent.   
  
"Mushrooms with capes eating you, Frank." Gerard answers. It is what he's drawing, after all.  
  
"Do I taste good?" Frank asks.  
  
Gerard shrugs. "I dunno, Frank. I'm not the one eating you."  
  
"I didn't mean in the picture." Frank giggles.  
  
Gerard freezes. "You tasted like skittles."  
  
Frank giggles. "Skittlez, Skittleyz, Skittluhs... Skettles..."  
  
"Anyone want to eat some fried banana?" Ray asks, pulling some fried bananas out of his hair.  
  
Gerard shrugs. "Sure."   
  
And that is that.


	11. Teaching Frank Iero to Be Ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Frerard. Inspried by a dream I had.

Gerard sighs. Why is Frank so delicious? Why does he have to look so goddamn edible? It's not fair. Someone.... Someone needs to teach Frank how to be ugly.

Well. Gerard could certainly do that... 

"Hey Frank! Come here!" Gerard tells through the tour bus. 

"Yeah?" Frank asks, walking into the bathroom.

"I need to teach you how to be ugly." Gerard nods his head.

Frank looks confused. "Um... What?"

"I need to teach you how to be ugly." Gerard repeats.

Frank's brow furrows. "And, um... Why?"

Gerard shrugs. He doesn't say it's because if Frank doesn't stop looking so goddamn perfect he's going to be eaten by yours truly. 

Frank sighs. "Whatever."

Gerard guides Frank in front of the mirror. "Try an ugly face."

Frank sighs, but scrunches up his face for Gerard all the same. 

Gerard shakes his head. "Still... Not ugly."

Frank shrugs, trying a new face. "Better?" 

Gerard shakes his head. "No..."

Frank frowns and tries out different "ugly" faces for Gerard. None of them are particularly ugly; unflattering, possibly, but not ugly. Why can't Frank just be ugly goddamn it? And the faces where he sticks out his tongue... Yum.

Gerard sighs as Frank pulls his lips together, scrunched up 'fish lips' style.

"Still too damn cute..." Gerard mutters.

Frank's eyes widen. "Gee? Did... Do you think I'm cute?"

Gerard's eyes are the ones that widen this time. "Oh shit you weren't supposed to hear that I--"

"Did you mean it?"

Gerard sighs. "Yeah."

Frank smiles, leaning up to kiss Gerard. "You could have said something."

"So could you." Gerard murmurs back.

Frank shrugs. "Boyfriends?"

"Nah... Fuck buddies."

Frank shrugs. "Works for me."


	12. Animal I have Become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THe demons never left Gerard alone.. Frerard.

There was a time at night, a time when the monsters wouldn't go away that I always hid. I hid in the trees, I hid in the bushes but they always found me, the demons were always out to get me. They wouldn't leave me alone, they wouldn't let me be. They just wouldn't give up, no matter how hard I tried to keep them away.   
  
They said they'd leave me alone!   
  
But they didn't, they didn't leave me alone and I was half convinced they never would. Maybe They'd never leave me alone, but I could promise you I'd never let them take me alive. I promised Mikey on my sixth birthday that I would never let them get me.   
  
They could hunt all they wanted, screech for me to chase them but I would never go back to greet them. I hid, I would hide all night if I had to. I just couldn't let them find me, couldn't let them get to me and tear me apart like they sometimes threatened. They wanted to pull me apart, they wanted to choke me and hold me underwater until I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream for help as they slashed into my skin with sharp nails and deadly claws. They wanted me, they wanted me so much that I could smell it on their breath every time they got close.   
  
They got so coleus to taking me, too. They pawed at me, my skin was under their nails as they left once the hour of their domain was up. I just had to stay alive until they were gone, I just had to run and run and run. I couldn't do anything else, I couldn't disappear. Thy would always find me, I could never be safe. I hid under my blanket, waiting for them to pass. As long as my eyes were covered, I couldn't see them. As long as I held my ears I couldn't hear them calling me. As long as I kept my legs tucked in under the blankets they couldn't leave bloody scratches, just the mild ones.  
  
I thought it was awful, I thought it would never stop, never go away. I thought they'd never flea, never leave me alone. I thought they were going to haunt me forever, come after me every night. I was just seven years old, tired of the screeching the demons caused in the night. I never slept, I couldn't. Then they stopped, for a week. I was astounded, so amazed and I was so happy. But I was used to the sleepless nights, it was unnatural to be without the constant torment I had grown used to and was scared of at the same time.  
  
The monsters came back, though, and I hated them all over again. Nothing changed until I was fifteen. The monsters kept away one night, but at the end of the usual hour of horror instead of the usual demons or two there was a boy sitting on me, with little wings sprouting out of his back and a crooked grin. He was pretty, with dark hair and hazel eyes. I stared at him for about a minute, I was completely creeped out by his presence and captivated all at once. He held out his hand to me, whispering "Come with me." And I did.   
  
I do regret that I would never see my brother again.   
  
There was a castle, a gothic castle he took me to, still wearing that trade marked grin of his. I shouldn't have followed him, but he took me by surprise. All the other monsters never asked, they threatened or called in overly sweet voices that scared me more than anything else ever could. But his approach was blunt and to the point, and I was shocked into obedience.  
  
It wasn't that bad of a thing to agree with, as I soon found out.   
  
I was given a new attire, black, not much different from what I already had, and lead to meet the queen of the castle. She sat in a stiff posture, grace almost rolling off her in waves. SHe greeted me with a slight nod, as to not disrupt her raven locks so similar to mine and her crimson-red beaded headdress that could only be a crown. She was stunning with her pale skin, and i noticed large, black wings curtained across the back of the room that connected to her and her regal mood.  
  
"Frank." She addressed the grinning winged-boy next to me. "Are you sure you want him? Of all the people you could choose, him?"  
  
The teen, Frank, nodded. "Yes, mother. I want him."  
  
The woman raises her eyebrows. "You chose this man as your mate, the one to keep our legacy?"   
  
Frank nodded. "He has known of demons and monsters his entire life, and on top of it all he's good to look at."  
  
The woman sighs. "Tell me you asked if he's homo or heterosexual?"  
  
I was really quite confused by this time, and Frank turned to me expectantly. "Well, which is it?" He asked.  
  
I was shocked by their crude behavior, so my tongue slipped and the answer just rolled out. "Homo."   
  
Frank grinned. "See, mother?"  
  
The woman sighed. "fine, fine." She stood up, dragging her long curtain-like wings behind her as she approached me. She slowly brought her pointed finger to rest on my forehead, and a dull white-blue light emanated from her finger tip. "It is done."  
  
Frank's grin widened. "Hello, mate." He said to me.  
  
I frowned, and i felt something foreign on my back. "Oh hell.." I whispered, realizing I had wings on my back.  
  
Frank grinned. "Come on, let's go procreate."  
  
That was how I managed to become a demon prince, if you were perhaps wondering.


	13. Bored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard's so bored.

The cuts aren't deep, only one of them leaves blood over my blue vain. But the skin is raised and tinted pink, the word 'fat' scrawled with shards of the mirror I broke so long ago and made a habit of using to cut. The mirror is small and dull, I can't physically cut deep. Even if I could, I don't know that I would.  
  
I'm fat, not obese but fat. I'm not technically overweight, but I have this disgusting gut that needs to go away. A frontman can't look like this. I just can't, can't look like this. I can't have these cuts either, they don't help anything. But the blade is dull and I can't cut deep-- the most time they ever take to heal is a few days. I can live in a few days, sigh as I look at the marks on my wrist.  
  
They say people commit suicide, or self harm, because they're sick of life, angry, depressed or bored. I would certainly fall into the last category.  
  
I were songs, I get to express myself through my art. But it's all shit, I don't have a muse, a reason to be anything but bored. My wife is touring, my daughter-- who knows what happened to Bandit? She's at the daycare, I have to pick he up later.  
  
But I'm... So utterly bored.   
  
There's nothing to do, nothing keeps my attention. But... When I have a shard of mirror that will never do me any real damage, I find my mood as calm as ever as I cut into the flesh, and then there's this delicious fascination with watching the blood seep onto my pale skin, beading up and pouring out. A strange thing to like, but like it I do. I like it, I love it and whenever I see the piece of mirror lying idly by I can't help but wonder how deep I can push it, how much I can put on myself.  
  
I never get very deep, I can't. Not with the mirror.  
  
It's good, though.   
  
Because I'm all alone,  
  
all alone,  
  
all alone...

No one should ever love me.


	14. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waycest-y. What's the difference between reality and delusion?

I lie, and I lie and I lie.  
  
I lie when I say I hate you, when I say I love you and when I say I want you away from me.  
  
I don't hate you, and I certainly don't love you, but I want you near me. Well, maybe I'm lying again. Maybe I just can't say it, maybe I just can't accept that I hate loving you. but that's not it, can't be it. I can't love you, no, I _don't_ love you. I hate you. I hate you with envy thing I've got. And I love you too.  
  
I'm lying. I'm lying so much, I don't even know if I hate you or love you anymore. Maybe I'm not lying. Maybe it's all true. Maybe I love you, maybe I hate you and maybe I want you near me. No, I'm lying. I had to be lying. Of course I'm lying, I always lie. Or is that a lie? Do I not lie?  
  
There are so many lies, so many things to sort out and is it the truth? Maybe I'm not busy, maybe I have nothing to sort out. Maybe there's nothing wrong with me, maybe these men in white suits aren't actually coming for me. But of course they're coming for me, they'll never stop coming for me why do they keep coming for me!?!  
  
Or is it a lie? A they not coming for me, are they not searching for me or are they? What's real, what's the truth. Certainly it's not me, certainly it's not this mess I have become. Certainly not, most certainly not. It can't be. Or can it? Can it be true that I love my brother? No, I can't love Mikey. But then is it true that I had him? I don't want to hate Mikey. I _like_ Mikey. Or do I? Do I like him? Do I love him? There has to be a truth somewhere, why can't I find it? Why can't I find how I feel about my brother, my savior and my everything? Is he even my everything? I don't know. I don't.  
  
Everything could be a lie. I don't know what's tue, I don't know what's false. I don't know what is a lie and it's killing me. I just... I just can't. Can't function. When you don't know one grain of truth, when you don't know even _one_ puny fact you know nothing. I know nothing. I know _nothing_.   
  
I can't love him, I can't hate him because I don't know what information is falsified, shoved into my brain by _them_. They're never going to find me again, never. They're never going to be able to steal the secrets in my head, never find out the deepest things only I can ever know.   
  
I just know things, I know secrets and they can't learn them.   
  
But what if I don't know things? What if knowing things is just a lie and I'm clueless? What if _they_ aren't real? Of course they're real. they're coming after me. They're going to find me and steal my secrets, take me away from the one I love most and kill me.  
  
That's right. I _do_ love Mikey.  
  
I love him more than anything, I love him more than I should. I'm sick, I'm vile. Disgusting. Or am I?


	15. We'll Wake the Thought Police

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frerard, AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My second fic ever.

Gerard’s P.O.V.  
  
The drugs had never worked on me, and that was something I had immediately learned to keep a secret. The districts didn't like it when anyone thought, much less a factory worker. The Drug kept your mind blank, keep you moving like a zombie. It made you not notice abnormalities, not question, barely feel. They had a file of things they kept on you- they knew your talents (no one really has any), and your physical capabilities. They never throw out files. There are warehouses where they keep the old files. They destroy the files of undesirables. If you have no file, you don't exist. It's the rule here. Everything here is a rule. You just have to see it, but no one does. No one fight, they don't care. No one loves, the don't care. No one cooks, no one can taste. (They're very lucky, the pills they give us for nutrients are awful) You live your life. You die. They move your file. That's it. It's what everyone does, cares for. But I don't.  
  
I can see the colors of the world, even if no one else can. I can smell the stench created by the factories, I can feel desires, even if no one else can. They can't stop me, they don't know. They don't know that the Drug doesn't affect me. How could they? I'm smarter than them, they're all pumped up with the Drug, too high to notice. My nanny was the same way. She taught me to hide it, but she's gone now. They found out about her resistance. Her file was terminated.  
  
I don't think anyone ever wants anything here, none of the fellow factory workers. They don't think. They just obey. They can't afford to think. They need the drug, unlike me. I could go an eternity without it. It's just another thing that sets me apart, apart from a herd that doesn't even know it exists. Never once, for all the time I've been alive, have I seen someone look up from their work with a look of emotion, of anything but death. In my eyes, they're all dead. We live underneath the world, we make manufacture for people who don't know we exist. And we never complain. Never, ever complain. That's rule number 10.  
  
Breaking the rules will get your file terminated. It will get you destroyed, black, oblivion, nothingness. Breaking a rule means you're thinking, and they can't have that. No thinking allowed. No time alloted. Work, Drug, sleep. That's how everyone's day goes. No room for thought, unless you're me.  
  
If you're me, you're always thinking. Always planning, always plotting. I need to always appear unintelligent, when I'm not. I need to escape this prison, this haze of unreality, this insanity, this audacity preformed and caused by those who live on the other side of the world. We are their slaves, but we must never, ever let them know we're here.  
They would think it wrong. Besides, we're here for their benefit. Only them, never us and our Drug induced zombie like states, will ever matter. The ones of the upperworld have money, and the ones who own us want money. Very much money, because this world is about money, no matter what you think. Emotions can be easily killed with the Drug. Only money matters, not intellect. Intellect means nothing down here, you still work a factory job, still live in one room apartments, still follow the same, boring patterns. You never, ever think. You can't, you'll wake the Thought Police.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Back and forth. Left, right. Side to side. Top to bottom.  
  
It's how the work day always goes. Doing the same, old boring thing, in the same, old boring fashion. The pristine white factory walls make the place seem like heaven, though it's quite actually a hell for someone like me. Silk screening ink onto clothes, usually the same pattern for a whole year. I don't look up from my work, none of the zombie's ever do. I just stare at the design I'm making on the shirt, scraping the ink onto the silk screen, back and forth, up and down. No one ever talks while working, it's always quiet, you can hear the rumbling of machines in the background. The behavior control squad patrols the building, but nothing ever happened. The most that has ever happened is someone got their hair all pulled off by a machine. I wasn't there when it happened, I silk screen things thus am always surrounded by silk screens and the zombies who man them. The woman who got her scalp pulled off screamed, thus disturbing the peace. Her file was terminated.  
I jerk my head back a centimeter-before stopping myself- when I hear the chair next to me slide out. I slowly look over-the chair's been empty for ages- eager to see the new zombie. Anything new interests me. It might be different. A man in standard issue white cloths sits don in the chair.  
  
"Mr. Way." Says the security guard with the man "I would like you to show around Mr.Iero until he gets how things work." He informs me. I slowly nod, willing my eyes to look glossed over and deficient.  
  
"Yes, sir." I say slowly, slurring the words together.  
  
"Then I'll leave you to it." The guard says, walking away.  
  
I turn slowly to face the man, I didn't barely glance at him before. "Hi, my name is--" I catch full sight of the man. He has brown hair, cut just like everyone else, at the ears. But his face is slightly tan looking, his skin smooth with an adorable button nose. His eyes are a green brown, gorgeous, his long eyelashes long and full. His eyes, though, they're definitely something more than the usual zombie. They seem wise, yet they're trying not really trying to hide their knowledge.  
  
He gives me a look. "You're not like the rest, are you?" He asks, in a soft voice. My eyes widen.  
  
"What do you mean?" I ask slowly, feigning ignorance by talking slow and zombie like.  
  
"You stopped talking when you saw me. You must have thought something at that point." he says in a low, demanding voice.  
  
I give him a blank look. "I don't know what you are talking about. My name is...it's...Gerard. I forgot it." I say, covering up my mistake with extra stupid. He'll figure it out eventually, he seems smart like me. But having another know a secret like that is dangerous. Very dangerous.  
  
His eyes gaze over in the same manner I always do when I fake stupidity. "Right. I am Frank, nice to meet you." He says slowly.  
  
"It is good to meet you too. To work the silk screen you must..." I explain the easy process slowly, observing him the whole time through a glossy eyed veil. I only explain it once, he's smart and I know he gets it.  
"Where did you work before?" I ask. Oh God, I did not just ask a question! Zombies don't think, they don't ask questions.  
  
"I made guitars." He says slowly. "You aren't normal." He whispers the last bit.  
  
"Later!" I whisper back, and we both get back to silk screening.  
  
~  
  
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing sounds the unenthusiastic bell that signals lunch period. Everyone slowly stands up, their bland faces showing their currently empty mids going about their usual business-doing nothing. Lifelessly, all the zombies, Frank and I file out of the white factory door to the white pristine lunchroom. We all take a carton of milk and 3 pills in a white paper cup. We have 15 minutes to eat, and use the restroom, even socialize minimally. Too much talk draws attention.   
  
The zombies mindlessly sit down, shuffle around and exchange meaningless words. I sit down at a sterile white table with Frank, off in a corner.   
  
"You don't take The Drug?" Frank asks quietly.  
  
"Of course I do. Everyone does." I say. He looks confused for a moment, but then goes back to his custom blank zombie expression.  
  
"Then why aren't you...so dead?" He asks slowly.  
  
"I'm immune." I say equally slow.  
  
"Really? Is that possible?" He asks quickly. I give him evil eyes for slipping up, then revert my face my bland usual zombie-face.  
  
"Yes. What about you?" I ask slowly.  
  
"I...came from the other side of this, I suppose. The side that gets all of these supplies." He says...He's an outsider.  
  
"Why would you come here?" I ask.  
  
"To investigate for the police." He says, and my eyes widen as I quickly dart my eyes across the cafeteria.   
  
""We have police here, too." I say quietly.  
  
"Do you?" He asks.  
  
"Yes. The Thought Police. Theymake thoughts limited, if not non-existant. They developed The Drug, and they erase the files." " I explain.  
  
"Erase files?" He asks.  
  
I nod, slowly. "A file here is what proves your existence. No file, no life. Having your file removed is basically an execution order, and it doesn't take a whole lot to get your file erased. Last year a woman's file was erased because she screamed when a machine pulled all her hair out quite violently. They said she was 'disturbing the peace'." I explain.  
  
"That's awful." Frank says. I shrug slowly.  
  
"You learn to live half a life."  
  
"That's awful."  
  
I shrug again. "How do you go without being administered The Drug?" I ask him.  
  
"Some of the doctors work with the police force. They just have to pretend to give it to me." He explains to me, his face devoid of any emotion. "Maybe they give it to someone else."  
  
"If they gave it to someone else there would be more ODs." I say.  
  
"ODs?" He asks.  
  
"Yup. You can only handle so much of The Drug, it's not perfect yet. People have too much in their system and they can't handle it. They die." I shrug. My brother over dosed two years ago.   
  
"That's awful" Frank says.  
  
I shrug. "Shit happens."  
  
"But still..."  
  
"Do you think you could get me out of here?" I ask abruptly.  
  
"That's why I'm here. To get you out." He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"Yeah...but why did you come here? You have the doctor's accounts, right?" I ask.  
  
"Oh. I came here to see what it's like to live here, if it's as awful as it seems." He explains. Ah.  
  
"It's only awful if you're like me, having to hide everything about yourself. Never ask questions, rule number 9." I say.  
  
"What's rule number 10?" Frank asks.  
  
"Never complain."  
  
"What are the other rules?" He asks.  
  
"All in due time." I say as the Riiiiiiiiiiiiiing signaling the end of lunch goes off.  
  
We file back into the boring white factory, going back to our lifeless jobs as zombies, not looking forward to it in the least.  
  
~  
  
"This'll be where you sleep." I say, pointing to a neatly made bottom bunk of a two story bunk bed in my, no our, sleep room.  
  
"Ah. We share a room, then?" Frank asks.   
  
I nod. "Every room has a bunk bed, thus two people per room.""  
  
"Ah. I see...Who was your roommate before?" He asks.  
  
"My brother." I say. My wonderful, loving, zombie brother. He always meant so much to me.  
  
"Ah...He moved?" Frank inquires, sitting on the bottom bunk. I sit next to him.  
  
"No..."  
  
"No?" Frank asks, obviously confused. Then a look of understanding crosses his face. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."  
  
I chuckle, though I don't know who this 'God' is. " My brother was different from the other zombies. He was occasionally unaffected by The Drug. He usually was, but he could be so loving." I say, tears threatening to fall from my eyes.  
  
"He meant a lot to you." Frank says softly. I laugh a little.  
  
"I remember first noticing he was sometimes...into it. I was so happy. We were good friends. Sometimes the Drug wouldn't work, but after the those times having The Drug was always worse for him." The tears stop threatening to fall off my face, they just fall, salty and wet.  
  
"I'm sorry...How'd he...you know, go?" Frank asks in a kind, warm tone.  
  
"He over dosed." I choke out. "God, now I'm even breaking rule 8." I whisper.  
  
"Rule number 8?" He asks. I nod.  
  
"Never show passion." I manage. Frank must think I'm a wuss.  
  
Frank puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a hug. A hug is something I've missed, but I don't remember it making my stomach summer salt like this.  
  
"Thank you." I whisper.  
  
Frank pulls out of the hug, grinning at me.  
  
"You need to tell me all about this place." He says. I grimmance. I look around our room. It's small, and white, a bathroom, two dressers and the bunk bed. Everything is tasteless and uniform. What I wouldn't do to get some black in here. Or have some music. Nan, my nanny, used to sing to me. She'd tell me of the world Frank came from, too.  
  
"Where you come from...Do you ever listen to music?" I ask.  
  
Frank grins. "Yeah. Everywhere you go, you can bring it, make it or it'll already be there. You don't have music here, do you?" He asks. I shake my head.  
  
"My Nan used to sing to me, teach me about music. She remembered your world, and she was immune to The Drug, like me." I say. I get up and quickly strip into my boxers. I put them down the laundry chute. Frank does the same.   
  
"What was she like?" He asks.  
  
"She was nice. She cared, she covered for me when I made a mistake. She taught me the rules of living here." I say, climbing up to the top bunk.  
  
"She sounds like a remarkable woman." Frank says.  
  
"She was. Her file was deleted because she wasn't affected by The Drug." I sigh.  
  
"I'm sorry, Gerard." Frank says from the bottom bunk." I didn't realize being immune was so dangerous. This place is awful."   
  
"Yet, at the same time, it's paradise." I say, drifting into sleep.  
  
~  
  
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing sounds the un-apologetically apathetic bell signaling the waking of the zombies.  
  
I sit up in my bed, blinking the sleep from my eyes. I swing my legs off the side of my top-of-the-bunk bed, and jump down to the floor.   
  
"Good enough morning." I say to Frank, who is pulling himself slowly into a sitting position.  
  
I quickly strip, dropping my boxers into the laundry chute, and changing into fresh zombie issue clothes. A white 3/4 sleeve shirt, white skinny jeans, white socks and (you guessed it) white lace up ankle height cloth and rubber soled shoes. (A/N: Converse, unbranded. I did my best to paint that picture, but I just thought you should know.)  
  
I look over at Fran, who's staring a me, red faced.  
  
"Are you okay?!" I ask, worried. His face is the color Mikey's was before he ODed, I think as I rush over to him. Did someone inject him last night?  
  
"Yeah! I-um-I..." He says. I'm glad he's okay. Then a confused look crosses his face. "Why? Did I look bad?"   
  
"No. Well, your face was red. My brother's face was red just before he Oded..." I explain.  
  
"Ah..."  
  
"So why was your face all red?" I ask, and his face turns a darker shade of red. But it's not because he's sick- it's some weird, foreign reason.  
  
"Well..." He sighs. "Because I was embarrassed. Generally, people's faces turn red when they're embarrassed."   
  
"Oh...Why were you embarrassed?" I ask.  
  
"Well...Er, you were changing...." He mumbles, looking anywhere but at me.  
  
"Is my figure really that bad?" I say. I thought I looked decent, compared to some of the people around here. I'm nothing compared to Frank, though.   
  
"Oh no! You have a lovely figure!" He says quickly, then his face flushes.  
  
"Thank you...You do too." I say. "So why, then, did your cheeks burn red?"  
  
"Because I'm...well, I'm gay." He barely manages, like he's expecting to be hit.  
  
"I don't know what that means." I inform him.  
  
"It means I like men."   
  
"You like all men? I don't feel one way or another on the species as a whole." I say, confused.  
  
"No...I mean I'm into men, ya know?" He asks.  
  
I shake my head. "No, I don't."   
  
"It means I prefer to do men!" he exclaims.  
  
"Do? What does that mean?" I ask, innocent of all charges.(A/N; That was symbolism, y'all. not literally)  
  
"You know, have sex with? Do the dirty?" He tries.  
  
What is he talking about? Oh! "You mean you prefer to have babies with men? How does that work?"  
  
"No..." He sighs. "The act that makes babies, I prefer to do with men. That act is called sex. A man, or woman, can have sex with anyone, technically. But most people chose to have sex mainly with one gender. If they don't, they either want sex from everyone or just don't care. But there is no baby if it's two people of the same gender. I don't see the appeal of having sex with a woman, only men. Thus, I'm gay, meaning I'm into men."  
  
"But..." I say, still confused.  
  
"Did your Nan explain what love is?" He asks, exasperated.  
  
"Yes. She said it was the most wonderful feeling, feeling complete just by being around another."  
  
He nods. "I, being gay, will never fall in love with a woman. I am only romantically involved with men." He explains. "I take it you don't know who you prefer?" I shake my head.  
  
"What's it like to be in love?" I ask.  
  
"It's just to be always thinking of someone, even when they're not there. You just notice things about them, think things like 'God, they're beautiful'. Or they'll do something around you that will make your stomach parade around your torso in a undisturbed happiness. Got anyone like that?" He asks.  
  
"Yes. There is." Frank looks slightly disappointed, but nods all the same. It's him, it's Frank. My stomach almost started hemorrhaging in happiness when he hugged me last night. I've thought the thoughts, felt the feelings. I must be this 'gay' thing.   
  
"Hm...Who?" He asks.  
  
"Nan said not to say. I'd be breaking rule number 7 on a whole new level." I say. It's half lie. It goes with the rule, but it's not the reason I won't tell him. What if he doesn't like me? I have no experience with this, and he might be able to get me out of here.  
  
"And what is rule number 7?" He asks, temporarily distracted.  
  
"Never appear individual." I say.  
  
"You've broken that one with me before." He says. "Tell me who it is. Pleeeeease!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Aaaaw...boy or girl?" He asks.  
  
"Boy." I say, and I swear I can see a fire light up in his eyes.  
  
~  
  
"There you go, Gerard." Says the doctor man with a shock of red hair, pulling the needle from my arm. I used to be afraid of needles, but now they're a part of my tri-weekly life. They always were, but when you're younger they give you pills, that aren't too strong. They can't do that if you've gone through puberty.  
  
"You're roommates with Frank, yes?" He asks. I slowly nod.  
  
"Take care of that boy." He says firmly, patting my shoulder twice. "Not that probably know what I just said...I really do detest The Drug." He sigh.  
  
"I'll make sure Frank is fine." I say, a little too quickly. I'm just breaking rules left and right, Frank got my guard down. "So you don't have to worry." I say, this time at normal zombie pace.  
  
The ginger man lifts his eyebrows. "I think I'm going to request being your doctor permanently."   
  
"Are you Frank's doctor?" I ask.  
  
He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, my wife is."  
  
XXXX(NOT THE END JUST A BIT LATER)XXXX  
  
Scraaaaaaaaaaape, scraaaaaaaaaaaaape, scraaaaaaaaaaape....  
  
The factory room makes that awful sound, as workers scrape ink across their respective silk screens. As we scrape ink, staining the fabric beneath with red, black, blue or green.  
  
I work with a dark blue semi-paste like ink, scrapping a pattern of trees(Nan told me about these), many of them, all twisting around themselves and each other in an eery, yet beautiful way. I scrape this pattern, just like anyone else would with their pattern, into the cotton polyester mixed fabrics.  
  
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing   
  
The bell rings lazily, like it has something better to do than direct a zombie hoard.   
  
We all slowly shuffle into the eating area , grabbing our pills and milk. I hate milk. It's a disgusting thing, tastes awful.   
  
"I hate these, they taste awful." Frank says, a tad whiny under the zombie-ness. He swallows the pills, and I assume he was talking about them, not the milk. Nan said milk's common there.  
  
"No, they're not very good, not that I've had a lot of comparison. But they get you what you need, which ones are given to you is based on body mass and how much strength your job requires. Trust, there are worse tasting ones. Nan hated these pills, too. She said we shouldn't have to eat this when there is lots of food going to waste. She said food was something that could make your mouth burn, could delight you so you'd always want more, pucker your lips." I say.  
  
"Speaking of puckering lips..." Frank grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "Who is it you like?"  
  
"Frank!" I his. "You're breaking rule 6!" I exclaim in hushed tones.  
  
His face reeks of confusion. "Just go back to your zombie face!" I demand, and he follows order.  
  
"Rule 6?" He asks.  
  
"Never show any non-zombie facial expression!" I say, slowly but surely.  
  
"Ah..." Is his only comment. "Who do you like?" He slowly looks around. "You said it was a guy...is he in this room?"   
  
"Alll the guys I know, not counting the secuirity are in this room." I tell him.  
  
"That's a yes..." He says. My cheeks flame red, in what Nan called a 'reflex'.  
  
"You gonna tell me who it is?" He asks.  
  
I slowly shake my head. "No, I'm not."  
  
"I'll get it out of you eventually." He promises.  
  
"I have little doubt about that." I sigh.  
  
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing  
  
Sounds the indifferent bell .  
  
We get up slowly, and just as slowly we walk back into our false reality of life and work.  
  
~  
  
“Have you ever wanted a cat?” Frank asks me, once we’re safely within the confines of our bedroom.  
  
“A what?”  
  
“A cat. Have you ever wanted one?” He asks as we both strip down to our boxers, throwing our clothes down the laundry chute.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Should I want a cat?”  
  
“I dunno. Do you?”  
  
“I don’t know what it is!” I exclaim.  
  
“Oh. Sorry. It’s like, a pet.”  
  
“Pet is a verb, not a noun.” I say.  
  
“An animal, you know?!”  
  
I blink. Silence. He sighs.  
  
“Like, another form of life besides humans?” He tries.  
  
“Like milk? Nan said that milk is alive.”  
  
“Um...No. Like, small furry creatures.” He says, giving me a strange look.  
  
“You’ll have to show me someday.”  
  
“Yeah, I will.”  
  
“You promise?” I ask. He looks surprised.  
  
“You know what a promise is, but you don’t know what a cat, or as they say in French, chat is?”  
  
“Nan just taught me the basics before she was deleted.”  
  
“Oh. Well yeah, I promise.” He says. I grin.  
  
“I want to go to where you’re from.” I say. He sighs.  
  
“Yeah...”  
  
“Are you NOT going to take me?” I ask, alarmed.  
  
“God, no! I will! I just was thinking about my side of the in this case proverbial universe.” He say, eyes lost in memories.  
  
"Oh. What was your life like?" I ask.  
  
"Hm...you want my life story?" He asks. I nod.  
  
"Yes, please." I say, I want to know more about him so, so badly. Like I've never wanted anything before.  
  
He chuckles, like something is funny. "I'll give you a short version, for now. I'm tired." He says. "Well, I was born and raised in New Jersey, and-"   
  
"Is it nice in New Jersey?" I ask, I want to ask where it is, but I'll just get more confused.  
  
"Yeah, when people aren't trying to murder you." He says, frowning.  
  
"Does that happen often?" I ask, appalled.  
  
"Oh, not that much. So yeah, let's see... I dropped out of high school, to do this. Il' go back and finish later."  
  
"High school?" I ask. He nods.  
  
"Also known as the place they send teenagers to learn. It's a pretty violent and dramatic place." He explains to my dull mind. "I'm 17, by the way. You?"   
  
"Um...I think 18." I say. I was 13 when Nan died, she counted the days and I've had five patterns during my work, one per year.  
  
"They don't celebrate?" He asks. I shake my head.   
  
"That's sad. But I suppose, good. On my 16th birthday I told my parents I was gay and they kicked me out. That's actually how I got into this. That, and my sister is a conspiracy theorist. On another note, I was living with my friend Ray-"  
  
"Is being gay bad?" I ask, concerned.  
  
"No, of course not. Some people think it is, but that's because of their belief in God, which is semi impractical if you ask me." He says, stopping with my questioning look.  
  
"What's God?" I ask. He keeps mentioning this word.  
  
"Are you serious? You don't know who 'the creator' is?" He asks.  
  
I shake my head. "I should, shouldn't I?"   
  
"Oh! Um, no, it's not your fault you don't. God is, if you will, a mythical creator of the world and humanity. It can't be proven He exists, but some people think He does despite logic and write laws against things they deem unfit to exist." He explains.  
  
"People like us are unfit to exist?" I ask, a bit afraid. "What gives God the right to say that!" I almost yell.  
  
"My point exactly." He says. Oh.   
  
"So this God...is like the false creator of life?"I ask.  
  
"Close enough." He shrugs.  
  
"Anything else I should know about you?" I ask.  
  
"Not really anything else important. I'm tired, we can continue this some other time." He says, yawning.  
  
"Well, night then." I say, up climbing into bed/  
  
"Yeah, night." He says, obviously drifting to sleep. Oh, the thing I could do now...I gasp, appalled at my thoughts. I need to go to asleep and stop thinking about how beautiful Frank is. After a long while of attempted sleep, I finally manage to fall into Frank-filled dreams.  
  
~  
  
I'm awoken by a R-r-rii-ii-ing! Of the bell, almost as if it's stuttering. I sit up, knowing full well what that means.  
  
I quickly jump out of bed, and pull my clothes on. I want this over with. Frank's looking around, confused.  
  
"Is the bell having an epileptic attack?" He asks.  
  
"I don't know what that is, get dressed. Hurry." I say quickly, brushing my hair to make it look decent. Zombies brush their hair. I usually forget, it's not usually a big deal.   
  
"What's up?" Frank asks.  
  
"Brush your hair, zombies brush their hair." I say, barely paying attention. "Today is no good. Shit. Ah, fuck." I mutter.  
  
"I didn't even know those words were in your vocabulary." Frank remarks.  
  
"Nan taught me the basics." I say, distracted by my appearance. I look fine. Relief floods through me.   
  
"So what's no good about today?" He asks, brushing his hair while I brush my teeth quickly.  
  
"Whatever happens, remain calm. Don't show any emotion. Stick to rule number 5. Don't scream." I tell him. "react as a zombie, and don't talk to me." I say, spitting out the paste.   
  
"Why? What's today?" He asks.  
  
"An inspection. Or a beating day."   
  
XXXX  
  
We all stand in a semi-familiar white room, in a line, like perfectly stupid zombie minions. They've looked at our work, They've checked our progress, making sure it's not too much or too little.  
  
"You are all working at sufficient amounts." The inspector says. I've seen him at every inspection since I started working. He has an air of authority as thick as his mustache. His brown handle bar mustache is huge. He has his hands clasped together behind his back, and he walks back and forth in front of us zombies, his stiff olive green suit unmoving. His beady brown eyes examine us, searching for defect.  
  
"Gerard Way!" He yells in a gruff voice, almost making me jump. Did I do something wrong?  
  
After about 15 seconds, I respond. "Yes." I say mechanically.  
  
"Your 18th birthday is Tuesday." He informs the room. "You don't know what that is, do you?" He asks.  
  
"No." I say, after the required wait.  
  
"It means you'll be visiting my office late at night so I can assess your...qualities." He almost looks hungry.  
  
I slowly nod.   
  
"On another note, when you hear your name please step into the black room." Th inspector says, pointing to the black door behind him. "I hope you pass your inspections."   
A black door. A black door, in a world of white. In a perfect plastic world, a black door, a door where mistakes leading to death can easily occur. A torture room. I remember the beatings, the trying to look neutral and not scream. Nan used to cut me for practice. She said never to scream, because screaming means you have hope. I can't have hope, not to live here.  
  
XXXX  
  
I walk into the black room, Frank's already been through. A man pops out from behind the door, and my eyes widen half a millimeter before returning to normal. I CAN"T be surprised here, I have to expect the unexpected. But it seems like trying to scare me has been given up, as the man punches my stomach.  
  
Soon I'm on the floor, he's kicking me. I'm winded, and I want more than anything to cry. It's never been this bad. They only usually hit me twice or so, not this. He kicks me again, and I struggle not to display the pain, anger and humiliation I feel.  
  
If I can't handle this, I'll be terminated. If I can't handle this, I'll no longer exist. I'll be erased, no more me. I won't be able to see Frank. If I scream, or cry, my Frank will be taken from me... I don't think this pain would even compare...  
  
"I think that's enough." I hear a feminine voice say. I've long since closed my eyes. I think I could possibly love that voice right now, as the kicking stops. "You really don't like him." She remarks.  
  
"Of course not. Did you NOT hear what the boss said? He wanted to 'assess his qualities', aka he wanted the boy." The man whom I assume was kicking me sneers. "That's my job."  
  
The woman chuckles. "Come on. You know the boss will fuck anything he can fit into."  
  
"Yeah, but his one's pretty." The male voice responds, sounding bitter.  
  
"Jealous much?" The woman asks.  
  
"Shut up."   
  
She chuckles again. "We should get him to a doctor." She says as I black out.  
  
XXXX Frank's P.O.V.(OMF, right?)  
  
Gerard should be back, it's been ages. They gave me the day off after hitting me twice. It was hard not to yell or anything, but I did it. I think I would've made Gerard proud. Speaking of which, where is he?  
  
Slowly the door opens, and in walks Leila Nelson, my doctor. "Leila!" I say when I see her. "Have you seen-" I stop, there's a giant figure behind her. I can't see it, though.  
  
"Frank, I need Gerard to sleep on the bottom bunk tonight." She says. Where did that come from?  
I slowly nod.   
  
"Frank, there's no need to act dumb. This is my husband." Leila says, pointing behind her. I finally get a good at the figure, it's two figures. One of them is a ginger, he's supporting someone...Gerard. He looks awful. There are bruises all across his face, bandages over his stomach and he's biting his lip. He looks like he's in pain but really trying to hide it.  
  
"Omigod what happened?!" I gape.  
  
"They really didn't like me." Gerard says meekly, trying to smile but not quite managing.  
  
"I wonder why. With that shitty inspector flirting with you and all, I thought they'd like you well enough." I reason. I can't believe the inspector made a move on Gerard- and he's going to rape Gerard? My Gerard? And on his 18th birthday, of all things. I wonder who Gerard is crushing on. They can just go and die. If Gerard liked me, I'd use that to every advantage.   
  
"Exact opposite." Gee says, wincing as the Ginger doctor places him in my bed. Gerard's sleeping in my bed! OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD!  
  
"This is my husband, Arthur Nelson." Leila says, pointing to the Ginger man. "You and Gerard should really get to sleep. Don't want to be tired for work tomorrow." Leila says, her and Arthur evacuating the room.   
  
"Gee...Are you okay?" I ask, once the door is shut. He nods silently.  
  
I give him a concerned look before stripping to my boxers, and climbing up to the top bunk. Up to Gerard's bed, his bed... He should be able to sleep here, not beat up in my bunk. I want to kill the bastard who did this. I really do.  
  
The light in our room is dim, it never really goes off. It's a while later that I realize Gerard is crying. I can't believe those people, making him cry. It's just cruel, doing something like this to Gerard. He's like a puppy.   
  
Oh God Frank, what are you doing? You should be comforting your crush.  
  
"Gerard?" I ask quietly.  
  
The sobbing quiets. "Y-yes?" He says shakily.   
  
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask, jumping off the top bunk so we can make eye contact while he tells me the truth.  
  
"I-I- no!" He cries, tears spilling across his already tear stained face.  
  
"Sh..Sh.." I say, stroking his hair, pulling it out of his face. Hi s beautiful, black hair. "Why don't you move over?"   
  
He follows my wishes, though he's obviously unsure of why I want this.  
  
I slide into the space he made for me, not caring what the state of my lower being will be in the morning. He needs me now.   
  
"F-Frank- what are you doing?" He asks, his eyes wide.  
  
"If you get scared, I'm right here." I promise. "I'll make them pay, one day."   
  
"That'd break rule number 4." He says quietly.  
  
"And that is?" I inquire.  
  
"Never look out for anyone else." He says. I chuckle.  
  
"I've kind of given up on following most of these rules when it comes to you." I say. I see him blush in the faint light.  
  
"You need to follow them! They're lifelines!" He begs.  
  
"Only because you say so." I say, and smile.  
  
We share a short conversation about nothing, and soon he's drifted into sleep, a smile etched into his features.  
  
~  
  
Gerard's P.O.V.  
  
It's almost my birthday, my bruises are gone, the purple and blue marks of pain and hate faded away. It still hurts.   
  
I don't wince when I stand up, or lean over, as much as I want to. The only thing keeping me from crying at night is Frank- he's always there with me, making me forget all the pain. But every time we're together, which is often, actually, only during doctor visits are we apart, and those moments are agony. I just want to...touch him. Push his hair out of his face, grab his hand, hug him. Anything, as long as we can be close. I want most to crush my lips against his, like they do in fairy tales Nan used to tell me.But it would no doubt ruin everything. And I just can't bear to have him leave my life.   
  
"Frank? What do you think the inspector's going to do to me?" I ask. We're laying next to each other on the bottom bunk, on our backs, staring at the white plastic that separates the two white beds.   
  
"I...I don't know." He says, biting his lip. He's lying. He has an idea. I know Frank, so I just ask him a semi-relevant question. I haven't asked him yet, I didn't know what his reaction would be.   
  
"Don't you?" I pretend ponder. He stiffens a bit. "What do the words 'fuck' and 'get it on' actually mean?"   
  
"Where'd you hear those?" He asks quickly, looking over at me like a fear has come true.  
  
"Well...Nan used to say 'fuck' when she was upset..." I try. He raises his eyebrows. I sigh. I din't want him to be angry with me. "Well, I um, the man who 'tested' my reactions, the one who beat the shit out of me, he said the inspector man 'wanted' me. That he wanted to 'get it on' with me. And a lady said that the inspector woulld 'fuck' anything he could fit into." I explain. He does not look happy. Angry, even. I cringe. "I'm sorry, Frank. I din't mean-" He pulls me into a hug, and I almost sigh because of the brain spasms it causes.   
  
"It's not you I'm angry at." He whispers into my ear.   
  
I'm relieved. I'd hate to have him mad at me. I'd really, really hate it. "Can you tell me what it means?" I ask quietly.   
  
"Sex." He says.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Sex. He wants sex." Frank explains further, practically steaming.   
  
"I don't want to have sex with him." I squeak, appalled. The only person I want to 'fuck' is Frank. Not the inspector, not him, only Frank.  
  
"Yes. Thus the angry Frank." He says, lightly pushing me out of the hug. I try not to look too disappointed. He grabs my hand, and squeezes it. I almost melt with relief. He's not allergic to me. He's holding my hand. Wait. He's holding my hand!!!!   
  
My brains 'splat' against the inside of my head, an implosion of happiness, all because he's touching me again. I shouldn't feel like this. But I do. So I'll just have to live with it.  
  
"Frank, I don't want my first time to be with someone I don't like." I whine. I want it to be with you.  
  
He sighs. "Can't always help it."   
  
"I know...I just wish-never mind." I say, blushing at what I was about to say.  
  
"Just wish what?" Frank asks.  
  
"Nothing." I say quickly. A little too quickly to get away with.   
  
"You were going to say something." He pouts, his face unbelievably cute, cuter than normal. I just want to lean over and...What am I thinking? I almost said I wished my first time could be with him! What would Frank think? There has to be something wrong with me.   
  
"Yes...But I decided against it." I tease.  
  
"That's not fair! Tell me!" Frank begs, flipping on his side so his fave is very close to mine.  
  
I shakily take a breath. I need to learn to ignore the aching of my heart everytime he's so close, it can't be good for my health. I need to stop loving Frank, it's distracting. In a good way- no, in a bad way. He makes me want to be creative, be myself. In a world like mine, that isn't a good thing.  
  
"It's not really any of your business." I say, but it so is.  
  
"Of course it is! We are friends, aren't we?" He asks, exasperated. Friends. Yes, we're friends. And that's all we'll ever be, all he wants us to be. I should be happy I have that, besides, he probably has a prettier boyfriend back in his side of the world. A pretty, perfect boyfriend. Frank deserves it.   
  
I sigh. "I wish things were different, that's all. I wish I hadn't started falling."   
  
"Falling? Oh, you mean! You need to tell me who you're falling for." He demands, poking my shoulder.  
  
"It would ruin things." I say, unhappily.  
  
He chuckles. "Gerard? Ruin something? I can hardly imagine."   
  
"Laugh all you want, it's still true." I say stubbornly. He sighs.  
  
"Fine, fine. You win this round." He says, swinging his legs off the bed., getting up.  
  
"Stay with me." I whisper, grabbing his arm. "Don't leave me, not tonight."  
  
~  
  
Gerard's P.O.V. (die in the unexpected expected-ness, bitch)  
  
"Are you Gerard way?" A pale woman asks me, her long curly black hair swinging as she stands up from behind the reception desk. I slowly nod. "Follow me." She smiles, sliding out from behind her white desk.  
  
Her clothes are strange, not ones I've really ever seen before. They're white, of course, but she's got a long sleeved button up shirt, and a puny thin skirt that hides nothing at all. (IT"S A PENCIL SKIRT! A/N, BTW)  
  
I follow her as she leads me to a brown door with interesting patterns. Wood. That's what Frank calls it.  
  
The woman knocks on the door, a bit impatiently. Not the perfect receptionist, I see.  
  
"Come in." I hear the gruff voice of the inspector say from within. The woman opens the door slowly, revealing a purple carpeted room with bright red walls. red is for passion. That's what Frank says, anyway. I step into the room, the receptionist locking it behind me.   
  
There's a wooden table, and a matching chair in which he's sitting on. On the table is a metal like string, a needle and a bottle labeled 'Vodka'.   
  
"Get over here." He growls.  
  
I comply, involuntarily.   
  
"Take your shirt off." He commands, and I slowly do. Not that I want to. He whistles. He picks up the string, and ties my hands together in front of me. The string is cold, thick and sharp, it hurts, cutting into my wrists.   
  
He hums while he works, then turns around and preps the needle. He turns back to me, and patiently injects me with what ever is in the barrel of the needle, pushing on the plunger until all the liquid is released.   
  
"This," He says, grinning evilly, "Will cancel out The Drug. You see, I want you to feel it when I'm in you."   
  
"W-what ?!" I gasp, as the anti-drug starts to take effect, making me feel a slight buzz.  
  
"The anti-drug. Now, take my shirt off." He commands.  
  
"I-What?" I ask, though I had been expecting this.   
  
"Take it off." He says, impatiently.  
  
"Why?" i ask, pretending I don't know what he wants.  
  
"So I can have sex with you." He says, nonchalant to the point of irritation.   
  
"But I don't want to have sex."  
  
"Then I'll take it off, and rape you." He says, shrugging as he removes his shirt, his pants and finally his underwear. How peculiar that he still has his socks on, and his thing is smaller than mine. Are they supposed to be small? Would Frank think I'm a freak if he knew?  
  
"You just had to make things difficult." He says, punching me to the floor. He crouches down next to me, quickly pulling off the rest of my clothes before I can stop him. "You're big." He comments happily, and I can see his...thing start to move.   
  
"Please don't!" I beg, tears forming in my eyes.  
  
"How many times do you think I've heard that line?" He asks, shaking his head. He stands up, grabbing my hair and pulling my mouth over his...manhood. Nan never did tell me what it was called.   
  
"Bite and I will kill you." He hisses, pulling my hair so my mouth is going up and down on his hard manhood. Tears fall freely from my eyes, as he moans, and pants. Why does this have to happen?  
  
He pulls me off suddenly, turning me over, still firmly grasping my hair, and he...He starts to do the unthinkable.  
  
~~~~~(A/N: I wrote it out, but it sucks, so) time lapse.~~~~~  
  
I stand outside the door of Frank's and my room, contemplating what to do. I've barely just gotten the tears to stop falling. Maybe he'll be asleep. Yeah, it's late, no doubt. He should be asleep. How will I explain the cuts on my wrists, the fresh bruises all over my body, the dried tears and crumpled clothes other than saying 'you were right'? I don't want him to know. But I can't stay out here all night, not after the inspector re-administered The Drug.  
  
I slowly open the door. Frank's sitting on the bottom bunk, fully dressed, no doubt waiting for my return.   
  
"Are you okay?" He asks, rushing over once the door closes.   
  
"Yeah.." I lie. My body aches all over, I'm going to collapse if I don't lay down, and I'm fighting off an incredibly strong urge to cry. yes Frank, I'm okay.  
  
He looks me over. "No, you're not." He decides. I strip to my underwear. He gasps at the state of my body, but I ignore him, and climb to the top bunk, even though it hurts, and we've been sleeping on the bottom together as of late. He, of course, being Frank, follows me up, laying next to me. I turn away, wishing he'd just leave for a while.  
  
"I just want to be alone, Frank." I say, turning to him.  
  
"No such luck." He says.  
  
There's silence for a few moments.   
  
He reaches out for my hand, squeezing it.   
  
"Are we going to talk about it?" He asks. There's a deep concern in his eyes, and he wants to know about the Hell I've been through, wants to help.  
  
"There's nothing to talk about." I say quietly. "You were right." The tears are back, falling off my face. I try to turn away from him, but he pulls me into a sideways-laying-down hug. He still wraps his arms around me the best he can, and kisses my forehead. That puts around half of the cells in my multi-cellular heart at ease.   
  
I start sobbing uncontrollably, telling him the gory details between sobs, soaking his shirt. He doesn't interrupt, doesn't ask me any questions. He just squeezes me closer to him, and soon I'm clinging to him like my life depends on it.   
  
"He'll never do it again." He says, once my sobbing has become less destructive.   
  
"How do you know?" I ask, another tear finding its way down my cheek.   
  
"Because I won't let it. " He promises, hugging me tighter.   
  
"Thank you, Frank." I say, hugging him tighter. I hope I never have to let go. And that's how we fall asleep, in each other’s arms, still merely friends.  
  
~  
  
Leila's P.O.V. (Oh yes, I went there)  
  
Frank is mad. I can tell he's mad, it's easy enough to guess. It was beating day a few days ago, and I haven't seen him in a few days. They've started making The Drug doses bigger, so I'm not needed as much. But boy, is Frank mad.  
  
He walks into the room like normal, like a zombie. But as soon as the door closes, I can tell he's upset, mad. He's furious. Livid seems more appropriate.  
  
"What happened?" I ask quickly, trying to figure out the dilemma. He wasn't this mad after beating day, what's his sudden problem?  
  
"The inspector raped Gerard." He says quietly, in a way that makes you know a storm is coming. Not that we ever get storms here.  
  
"What?" I gape, genuinely dumbfounded.  
  
"The inspector. Fucking. Raped. Gerard." He says, biting his lip to keep from screaming. That wouldn't go over well, other people could hear it.  
  
"He did?" I ask, still a little concerned. How does Frank know this? Are Gerard and him close? Did he see it happen? Did Gerard tell this to Frank? Is Gerard lying?  
  
"That's what Gerard says." Frank states, his jaw clenching and un-clenching. Mixed in with the anger, though, is hate, and sadness.   
  
"How do you know Gerard isn't lying?" I ask, and instantly regret it.  
  
"Gerard wouldn't lie, not to me!" He almost yells, his voice getting louder with each syllable. Such hate and anger shouldn't be able to emanate from such a small teenager.  
  
"I know, but..." I say, trying to calm him, and save myself. "Tell me what happened."  
  
He sighs, trying to collect himself before carrying on. "The inspector called him to his room after work." He starts.  
  
"Do you know which inspector?" I ask, cutting him off a bit.  
  
He shrugs. "Handle bar mustache. Gerard came back really late. He had bruises all over his body, and cuts on his wrists from a chord of some sort. He came into the room, and he wouldn't say anything. Then he started crying. Like, the-world-is-ending crying. Shaking all over. He told me what happened. That the inspector fucking raped him." Frank spits, clearly upset.  
  
"This could give us grounds and proof to shut this place down." I say slowly. He nods. "I'll request to see Gerard. Patch him up. I think we have a rape kit around here somewhere." I say, looking around to figure out if it's in plain sight. I sigh, looking over at Frank's tense body. "Hit it." I command, pointing to the wall.  
  
"What?" He asks, clearly confused.  
  
"Just do it." I command, my patience growing thin. "Hit it like you mean it."  
  
He does. He throws a punch at the wall, like it's the inspector he has come to hate so much. "Fuck!" He exclaims, wincing at his now bleeding hand.  
  
"Feeling better now?" I ask, getting out bandages to wrap up Frank's injured hand.  
  
"Surprisingly, yes. I always did like hitting things." He muses as I wrap the bandage around his knuckles. "Gerard's going to wonder what happened."   
  
"Frank...Do you like Gerard? Romantically, I mean." I ask. It's been bugging me since this whole thing began. Since he'd waited for Gerard after Beating day. I can add. Two plus two equals...  
  
"Yes." He says, momentarily surprised. "But if you tell anyone, I will not testify against this place to the government."  
  
Then, like a drama queen, he walks out. The drama is almost more because of the zombie-ness exhibited as he opens the door and disappears into the land of Drug, work and Gerard.  
  
XX One Gerard Later XX  
  
riiiiiing...riiiiiiing.... goes the phone, as I impatiently tap my fingers on my office desk. I'm finally making the call. I'm calling the government. I haven't heard from them, except a message from Frank. I only have one call. It's now or never, though. Finally, an answer, the click of the phone being picked up.  
  
"Agent Red?" An unfamiliar, masculine voice answers, using my codename.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Is this an emergency, or have you substantial proof of human rights being violated?" The voice answers again, calmly, collected, everything I want to be but am failing at.  
  
"Of sorts." I say calmly, trying to figure out how to put this.  
  
"Tell me what happened." The voice commands, in an imposing way tat makes me just blurt it out.  
  
"I have proof that a boy was raped by one of his superiors." I blurt out quickly.  
  
"..."   
  
"Is that not enough to shut this awful place down?" I whisper, my dreams failing.  
  
"No. Even in our world, people are raped by their bosses all the time. Of course, they have to deal with pressure and sorts but no, it isn't enough." The voice says, pausing. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?"  
  
"Beating day." I realize.  
  
"Excuse me?" The male on the other end of the world asks.  
  
Beating day. They beat the workers, making sure the Drug works. Some of the workers aren't effected by the Drug, and it's a way they rat out the undesirable people with brains left." I explain.  
  
"...You should have called this in before." He says.  
  
"It only got bad a few days ago. I had to patch up a man who was beat up pretty bad. It's usually not very bad." I explain to him, I didn't even know about it until that day with Gerard. One of those things I'm supposed to hide. Arthur and I were told not to tell the other doctors about inspection day, beating day. It's wrong.  
  
"Just go about your norma routine. I'll see what I can do. You can expect to be out of that Hell in the next few months." Then hangs up. A few months. There are thousnds of people living here, so I suppose it won't be easy finding them places to live. But a few months. What could happen to Gerard and Frank in a few months?  
  
~  
  
Gerard's P.O.V.  
  
I wake up to a dark room and a big hand clamped over my mouth. I can't breathe. I slowly open my eyes, playing zombie, though I want to yell, kick and scream like this 'Hell' Frank talks about. This hand is too big to be Frank's.  
  
"Be silent or your roommate dies." A masculine voice whispers to my opening eyes. He pulls me from the top bunk (Frank and I didn't sleep together last night. I wanted to, but I didn't just want to ask. That would be weird, right?). I'm glad Frank isn't up here now, though. If he was, this mystery man might figure Frank isn't taking The Drug. I would hate for something like this to happen to him.  
  
The hand is off my mouth, and I'm pushed into the dimly lit hallway.  
  
"We know you're not under the influence of The Drug." The male voice says. It's coming from a muscular blond, blue eyed man. He's tall, too. Taller than me. Not that I'm super tall or anything.  
  
I gulp. "Are you going to kill me?" I ask.  
  
He chuckles. "I'm just going to erase your existence."   
  
XX FRANK'S POINT OF VIEW XX  
  
When I woke up, Gerard was gone. He still isn't back, though it's only been 10 minutes. It's scary, not hearing his breath. It's something I've grown used to. Something I've come to expect, and now I miss it like it was a drug I was under. The Drug in me is Gerard. Where could he be?   
  
Where the HELL is Gerard? Because I swear, if they've hurt him, I will destroy this place. Did the inspector get to him again? If he did...I'll fucking kill him. That's a promise. Gerard likes promises. Gerard...  
  
I take a few deep breaths, convincing myself he's fine. It'll all be okay, he'll be here when you get back, he's getting looked at by the doctors or something. Yeah, that's it. Now that I've gathered myself, I open the door and head out to work.  
  
XXX Leila's P.O.V. XXX  
  
"I'd like o see Gerard Way." I tell my superior.  
  
"Gerard Way?" He blinks. "We don't have a Gerard Way."  
  
"You...What!?" I ask. How could Gerard not exist? I know Gerard. He exists. How could this be?  
  
"If you need to make sure he doesn't exist, you can check his file." My superior says, pushing up his brown rimmed glasses.  
  
"O-Okay..." I says. "Sorry to disturb you." I say, leaving a very confused woman.  
  
~Later~  
  
I dig through the files. W...W...W... I search. Here it is! I grab the file labeled 'Way' and open it excitedly. He does exist! I look across the file and my heart drops. It says Mikey Way. Not Gerard. Though this boy isn't very old. Younger than Gerard, probably a cousin or sibling. and...deceased. I wonder if that was hard on Gerard, if he even knew this boy.  
  
Finally, I face the fact. There is no Gerard Way. His file was here last week. Gerard Way no longer exists. I sit frozen on the floor, Mikey's file in my hands. This is my fault. Gerard might be dead because I called in the government. It's all my fault, and Frank... How will Frank take it? A missing file means a person dead. And in this case, a person dead means one more useless, broken agent. I hope Frank won't take it too badly.  
  
~  
  
They shove me into a cell, there are three other people in the dimly lit, grimy gray-walled room, four beds, two of them chained to the wall over another bed. There's one window, covered by bars, and enough chairs for all of us.   
  
Two of them have long hair- a curly haired blue/green eyed girl, and a woman with long, ratty brown hair with natural honey highlights. She's facing the window, sitting in a chair, so I can't really see her.   
  
"Welcome to our lovely abode. I'm James." Says the other cellmate, a bald man with sparkling blue eyes. He shakes my hand. What a weird gesture.   
  
"I-I'm Triana." The red head stutters, she seems nervous. I wonder why. I mean, it's obvious they're not going to kill us.   
  
"Hello. I'm Gerard." I say, looking them over. They seem nice enough.  
  
"Jared?" James asks, while Triana asks "Gerald?"  
  
"No, its'-" I'm cut off by a very familiar voice.  
  
"Gerard." She says, and I turn to look at her. She gets up from the chair and turns around slowly. She looks at me, and her semi-wrinkly features light up.  
  
"N-Nan?" I ask, as she walks towards me and squeezes me into a hug.  
  
"Gerard." She repeats, hugging me tighter. "What happened while I was gone?"  
  
"We'll let you two catch up."James says, sighing as he and Triana go back to whatever they were doing. Triana is brushing her hair with her fingers, and Jan=mes is helping her.   
  
"While you were gone, Nan...Mikey died." I start. It's the past. It can't hurt me. Her eyes widen.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Too much Drug." I shrug. (A/N Ha ha it rhymes)  
  
"Oh honey I'm so sorry!" She hugs me, then releases me and has us sit down on a bottom bunk bed.   
  
"It's fine. It was half a year ago, I think." I say, trying to do the math. 1 inspection per month. 6 inspections..yeah, 6 months.  
  
"But still." She sigh. "Continue."  
  
"I met someone who is from the outside world." I grin, thinking about Frank. Oh shit, he probably is going to wonder where I am! Don't let him do anything stupid!  
  
Nan looks me straight in the eyes, frowning. "You're sure he wasn't just a bug?" She asks. My eyes widen. Frank? Sell me out? No, he wouldn't would he?  
  
"I-I never thought of that." I admit."But he-he would never do hat. No, not him. He taught me things, like you used to." I try, more to convince myself than her. It can't be true.  
  
She gives me a skeptical look. "You trust him too much. He's likely the reason you're here."  
  
No, Frank wouldn't. We're friends. But he did get me to trust Leila and Arthur...  
  
"Nan, I don't think-" I start, but she cuts me off.  
  
"What makes you so sure he didn't?" She snaps.  
  
"Nothing solid, but I..." I look away.  
  
"But you what?" She asks impatiently.  
  
"But I think I love him." I lean over and whisper in her ear. Not everyone needs to hear this.  
  
Her eyes widen as I pull away, and a scowl devours the warmth of her smile. "Gerard. He's the enemy."  
  
"Yeah..." I finally admit it might be a possibility. Not Frankie...  
  
"You'll never be together! He got you into this mess, and he sure as hell won't get you out." She snaps, impatience etched all over her features.  
  
"Yeah..." I don't care. I should, but I don't. He's Frank. In a just world he would be mine. I've never loved anyone like this, not Nan, not Mikey. There's just Frank. Just being around him burns away my insides with happiness, he makes me want to touch him, to be there for him always. And he cares. About me. About all of us in this world. He wants us out. But... it's his fault I'm here. "I know we'll never be together."  
  
Nan sighs. "I'm sorry. You're just going to have to let him go. You can't risk loving someone who'll stab you in the back like this." Nan says, then sighs.  
  
I nod. "Consider him nothing to me." I say, though it tears me apart. Rips my heart in half, then throws half of it to the sharks. Because I know he'll always be everything to me. But I can't be in love with him. Because this is all. His. Fault.  
  
XX Frank's P.O.V. XX  
  
"Hey, do you know where Gerard is?" I ask Leila at my next appointment.   
  
She stiffens. "About that...Frank, Gerard is dead."  
  
"Oh reall- wait, WHAT!?" I yell. He can't be dead, not my Gerard! It's not possible, he was fine! Just this morning- how is it even conceivable?  
  
"He doesn't have a file anymore." She says regretfully. Gerard told me no file means no existence. Oh Gad... He can't be gone. He can't.   
  
"No..." I croak. He's dead. Gerard's really dead. I feel my body become devoid of all emotions, I know there is a pain, I just can't feel it. It hurts that much. It hurts so much it can't even register.  
  
~  
  
X Frank's P.O.V. X  
Gerard Way is dead. It's a fact I've drilled into my brain everyday, each moment of realization as painful as the day before. It's so hard for me to believe he's dead. It hurs so much, it's something I hardly notice anymore. And I can't grieve.  
  
I can't grieve because the people who killed Gerard rule my life- they have me work a useless job, a job Gerard and I used to work together. They have me medicated- unanware that the medicine Gerard was resistant to never even reaches my veins. They call it a medicine. We call it a Drug.  
  
A Drug that could never destroy Gerard, not the way it destroyed all the zombies or the way it destroyed his brother. A Drug that never stopped Gerard from being who he was, when he was alone with me. Never stopped his innocent but silent revolt against the un-just world he lives in.  
  
They never stopped his adorable giggle, or the way his hair would somehow always manage to look cute, curling into his face though everyone else had the same haircut- he made it stand out, he made it his own, he mad it gorgeous.  
  
He had all the good things of a human, and most of the bad things weren't as pronounced as the people in the world I come from. He was innocent, curious, and had a little bit of a taste for revenge. In my world, he would probably burn twice as brightly. My world. He wanted to escape to my world. He wanted to know everything. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat. And that's why Gerard is dead. He must have let something slip.   
  
If I were a weaker person, I would do what I desire to do. I would kill myself. But not yet. Gerard's death, if nothing else, has given me a new reason to live. Because they just decided to kill him, on a whim or something. It's not Gerard's, or my fault, that he's dead. It's this company that keeps us enslaved.   
  
They must be taken out of power. They must be destroyed, obliterated, deleted from existence like you delete a wrong word on the computer. Gerard must be the last person they kill. Because there are others like him, I'm sure. And this can't happen again. It's not right. And I'm one of the only people who can stop it.   
So I will crush it in the palm of my hand. It's time a fat cat had a heart attack. And it will be one hell of a heart attack, I promise you that.  
  
XX Leila's P.O.V. XX  
  
Frank's become the perfect little zombie. He's practically high on misery, no Drug needed. I hope he doesn't try suicide. This place is almost suicide proof, unless you let loose the fact that you're not Drugged up. But there seems to be a little clockwork working behind his eyes- he's planning something, planning something grand. I just hope he doesn't get himself killed. We need him.  
  
XXX Excerpt From Phone Conversation (A few months later) XXX  
  
Male: Are we almost ready?  
Female: Yes, sir. Until total force mobilization, 72 hours.  
Male: Good. Is everyone playing fair?  
Female: The alliance between US, UK, France, and Russia holds strong. No one has backed out, sir.  
Male: Good. Good. Over.   
  
XXXX Gerard's P.O.V. XXXX  
  
I wake up, a smile on my face. I was dreaming about Frank again. I've got to stop doing that. It'll only make Nan angry, and it'll make me want Frankie, something I can't have. Because he got me here. I need to hate him. I just can't bring myself to do it. Because I guess I do, really love him. But if I ever see him again, I will make sure to kick, scream and cry against him. As much as I love him, he is my enemy, and I need to be strong and emotionless if I'm ever to get out of this awful place. They're teaching me to be a doctor. I don't know how they fathom that will happen, surely Frank's old them how much I hate needles? Getting them is one thin, but giving them... Frank, if you're trying to torture me, you're doing a lovely job. They had me needle a strange orange thing (which Nan called an Orange) and I started freaking out, just holding the needle. I'm wishing I'd never let Frank anywhere near me. And it'll never happen again. I'll likely never see him again. If I do, I won't listen to a word he has to say.  
  
~  
  
Gerard's point of view   
  
I wake up to an unfamiliar smell, a burning in my nose and mouth, and tears in my eyes. There's a gray puff of air floating into the cell door, clogging up the room, making it difficult to think, to do anything really. I can hardly breathe, can't smell, all I can see now is black. Black around me. Black surrounding me, encasing me, like it's trying to devour my soul.  
  
I gag, gasping for breath, only to come up empty. Suddenly there's a hand on my wrist, dragging me into where our cell door was-a hallway. The door must have been opened, as soon I'm aware of James' hand on mine, pulling me down the hall.   
  
"But Nan! And Triana!" I protest.   
  
"Don't worry, they're fine. They're ahead of us." James tells me, and we're running from the fire, adrenaline keeping my tired, unhealthy body going. We run through what seems like ages of smoke, keep running, keep running until my limbs feel rubbery and exhausted from the sudden exertion.   
  
We run out of the building, the prison, only to realize the entire city is on fire. White buildings, all around us, are burning, engulfed in flames, turning orange, red and yellow, leaving gray and black ash in the path of destruction. James makes a split second decision, pulling us between two burning buildings, in an attempt merely to get out.  
  
James pulls me along with him, him hand firm around mine, his frantic searching for an escape, his shallow breathing the only sign of fatigue.   
  
I hear a worrying grinding noise, and suddenly James' arm is no longer on my wrist. His hand is though, the falling building somehow cutting off the hand, still attached to mine, but hiding the body under burned remains. I scream, tumbling back onto my butt, before turning around and frantically crawling, then once I scramble off the ground, running in the opposite direction. Suddenly there's a loud noise, and an air born machine hovering over me. There's a ladder, and on the end of it...Frank.  
  
Frank's P.O.V.  
  
I look on the screen of the computer. The government has gotten everyone out of the puny city of factories, and I'm to make sure there's no one else left. I'm in a helicopter, scanning the ground. Then I see something so incredibly impossible, so incredibly alive I can hardly believe it. It's Gerard, running in the city frantically, alone, and not dead.   
  
"There's one!" I yell to the captain, and he soon sees Gerard too. I'm filled with happiness, knowing that my Gerard is alive. I'm lowered onto a ladder, which is sent down to the earth, to Gerard.   
  
"Gerard!" I yell, a smile lighting up my features. He looks happy, then angry as I reach the ground. "Get on!" I motion him towards me. His face looses all emotion, and I receive a stone cold answer.  
  
"No."   
  
"Why not?" I ask, confused. I'm saving his lie, and he's refusing?  
  
"Because Frank...I-I hate you." He says. Wait,what? Why does he hate me? I haven't done anything.  
  
"Why?" I ask, feeling a tear drip out of my eye.  
  
"Because you destroyed my life. I promised I wouldn't go with you, and that if I would, it would be kicking and screaming." He says coldly.  
  
"Gerard! I don't know what you're talking about, but it doesn't matter! This isn't some game! It's whether you live or not!" I exclaim at his idiocy.   
  
He looks me over a moment, and slitting his eyes, he slowly approaches me. He holds onto the ladder, though he's careful not to touch me. The ladder starts to move up, and we're around twenty feet off the ground when the helicopter jerks the ladder up.   
  
"Gerard!" I yell as his footing slips, and his arms as he starts to fall backwards.  
  
~  
  
Frank's P.O.V.  
  
"Gerard!" I scream, as his body falls away from mine, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief. I lunge for him, on arm on the ladder one reaching out to save the man I've come to love.  
  
I catch him, just barely though. Holding his wrist, he's dragging me down. I won't be able to hold him over the burning city for long.   
  
"Just drop me." He whispers over the noise of the helicopter. "I know you want to do it, so do." He doesn't look me in the eyes.   
  
"I would never drop you, Gerard." I tell him, confused as to why he thinks I would.  
  
"Then why the hell did you sell me out!?" He yells, angrily, snapping his eyes to mine. I feel a shock so electric I almost drop him. There are tears in his eyes, and he looks upset, distraught, though his voice makes him seem angry.   
  
"What are you talking about?" I ask quietly.  
  
"They knew I wasn't affected by the Drug! That's why the locked me up in that awful cell with the others!" He screams.   
  
"Gerard...I thought you were dead." I tell him. his eyes widen, then shrink to slits.  
  
"You're lying." He says. He just doesn't get it, does he? Almost makes me want to drop him. Kidding.  
  
"Gerard...No, I'm not. I don't know how to prove it, but I do." I say, gripping his hand tighter as my grip on the ladder starts to slip.  
  
"Maybe it wasn't you, but you got me to trust Leila and Arthur! They tried to teach me how to fucking inject people with The Drug! Do you know how scary that is!?" He yells. He's gotta be shitting me. Needles scare him? Or maybe it's the Drug, but still... I suppose he's a sheltered boy, for all he's been through.  
  
"I trust them. If they let it slip, it was on accident." I promise.  
  
"Frank..." He looks into my eyes. Really looks. Like there's something to see. Like there's a maze, a puzzle that doesn't quite go together. he just looks, searching for any betrayal. And I find I'm staring back, entranced by his beautiful eyes, unable to look away, to deprive myself from his gaze- because I realize, I really do love him.   
  
The helicopter sets us down in a field of green, green grass and green... just green.   
  
"Gee..." I say as we land in the field. "Gerard..." I try when he doesn't respond.  
  
"Leave me alone, Frankie! I hate you!" He turns away from me, and starts walking off. Wait. Frankie. He...has a nickname for me? Do nicknames even exist in the zombie paradise he comes from?  
  
I grab his arm, spinning him towards me. "You called me Frankie... Do you really hate me?"  
  
He looks a me. Just looks, for a moment before a tear falls down his face. "I should. I tried to. I really tried...Nan told me to, said I couldn't trust you..." he cries.  
  
"You can trust me, Gerard." I confirm for him, an answer to an unasked question. A question that desperately needed answering.  
  
"How can I be sure?" He asks, eyes wide and tear filled. I can't help it. I pull him into a the kiss I've been craving for so long. I mash my lips to his, and he jumps, pushing me away.  
  
"What the hell was that?" He yells, sinking my heart, ripping it in two.  
  
"A kiss...though I suppose you still have your eyes on that pesky crush..." I mutter, backing away.  
  
"A-A kiss? Like in fairy tales?" He asks, eyes wide. "That's what a kiss is?"  
  
And with that, he pulls me back to him, locking my lips in a heated embrace. I kiss back, of course, my heart half mended. He didn't know what a kiss was. Of course he freaked out. But does he know what it means...?  
  
I pull back from the kiss, needing confirmation.  
  
"Gerard, you know what kisses mean, right?" I ask, hoping it's a yes.  
  
"It means I love you." He smiles at me.  
  
"So you gave up on your crush and are going with me instead?" I grin, my heart almost breaking in happiness. Bursting at the recently sewn seams.   
  
"You were the crush, silly." He whispers, threading his arms around my torso, pulling me closer to him, and pulling m lips to his, starting the bliss that is Gerard and I.


	16. Gerard Way?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble. Gerardx..?

It wasn't really a style, not to Gerard, it was more a way of life. That feather boa was his life. He loved that thing. Ludicrous, I know. But that's just Gerard for you. Ludicrous to the mother fucking sexy, not to mention _sassy_ bone.   
  
Ah well, I still love him for it. I love him. Everything. From the fluffy feather boas to the angry zombie of a man he became when he's deprived of his early morning caffein. Well. Maybe not so much the last part, but you catch my drift. I love Gerard. I really, really do.   
  
Love him. Well, I suppose he does feed me skittles. In very _peculiar_ ways, might I add. Ways that should happen more often, if I do dare to add.


End file.
